


Joined at the Soul

by dkwilliams



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Case Fic, M/M, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 07:38:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5039662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dkwilliams/pseuds/dkwilliams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From their first meeting during a highly-charged investigation of a serial killer in Texas to the more dangerous and controversial X-Files in D.C., Walter Skinner finds that there is something inexplicable binding his soul to that of Fox Mulder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Author's Notes & Chronology

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written and posted in 1998

**Author's Notes** : There are a few of these, so if you hate 'em, skip to the start of the story.

1) RELATIONSHIPS: #1)Given Mulder's prodigy status and Skinner's career path, it is probable that they met sometime during the years before Skinner took direct ownership of the X-Files Unit. I felt the scene in "Toombs" hinted at a prior relationship. #2)Although a prior separation is not discussed in "Avatar", many divorces occur after several separations. I also felt Skinner was not the type to "cheat".

2) CHRONOLOGY: If you've tried to trace Mulder's education and career in the FBI, you probably know what a headache it is, and Skinner's is practically non-existent in Canon, except for a reference to his college in the game and his hitch in the Marines in Viet Nam. I have taken Mulder's chronology from Pellinor's Deep Background, included some of the recommendations there and did a Best Guess. For Skinner, I have taken what little is in Canon from Pellinor, included comments from the shows, researched FBI hierarchy, and have formulated my best guess for what his career path would have been to get to where he is now. Your mileage may vary. The Chronology follows these notes.

3) THE RING: We all know what we are talking about here - if you don't, skip this note and this story. I have come up with my personal slant for it for this series as TWO ex-wife/dead wives was too much. I don't claim this as an original idea as I know others have used this explanation. No plagiarism is intended.

4) The SERIES TITLE and quote at the beginning of Chapter One are from a wonderful song called "Forever's Just A Matter of Time" by Michael Bolton, which I found on the "All That Matters" CD. A lovely, angsty song. The song isn't important to the story and this is *not* Songfic.

5) The Whitman poem quoted in Chapter Seven is "Among the Multitude".

6) The serial killer profile comes from research off several web sites linked to Pellinor's Deep Background, and I am indebted to those sites for all their information.

7) FBI Regional Hierarchy: This can be confusing. The DALLAS Bureau is headed by the Special-Agent-In-Charge (SAC) with 3 Assistant-Special-Agents-In-Charge (ASAC). The DALLAS Bureau has 12 Regional Offices which are divided into four areas. The Wichita Falls Resident Agency and the four other offices in the West area are staffed by the Supervisory Senior Resident Agent out of the Lubbock Resident Agency.

 

 **SPOILER WARNING** \- Chronology Below mentions some shows and their relevant dates ONLY. The shows involved are "Pilot", "Young at Heart", "Unusual Suspects", "Ghost in the Machine", "Paper Hearts", "Avatar", "The End" and "Travelers". If you haven't seen these and don't want to take a chance, stop reading now.

 

 **CHRONOLOGY FOR MY STORY** :

**Mulder's Background**

Born Oct 13, 1961

1980-1983 - Oxford for his BA (age 19-21)

1983-1986 - Oxford for his doctorate (22-25)

1986 - Quantico for 4 months

1986-1988 - ISU with Patterson- notable profile Monty Props in 1988

1988-1991 - Violent Crimes under Reggie Purdue, partner Jerry Lamana

Important events: Barnes in Oct 1988, Unusual Suspects in May 1989, Regression in summer 1989, Roche in 1990

1991-1992 - X-Files with Diana Fowley

Summer 1993-now - X-Files with Dana Scully

 

**Skinner's Background**

Born June 3, 1952

Married to Sharon from 1979 till 1996 (17 years). Separated in 1995, divorced in 1996.

1970-72 - Marines, 1 tour of duty (13 months) in Viet Nam

1972-76 - College, University of Texas

1976-79 - FBI Academy, Special agent - D.C. area office. Met/married Sharon during this time

1979-82 - Supervisory Special Agent - Atlanta office

1982-86 - Assistant Special Agent in Charge (ASAC) - Chicago office

1986-90 - Special Agent in Charge (SAC) - Dallas Office

1991-94 - Assistant Director in Charge (ADIC) - LA Office

Jan 1994-now - Assistant Director - Criminal Investigations


	2. Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From their first meeting during a highly-charged investigation of a serial killer in Texas to the more dangerous and controversial X-Files in D.C., Walter Skinner finds that there is something inexplicable binding his soul to that of Fox Mulder.

_"We are joined at the soul_   
_With a heart that don't know how to let go._   
_And what does it mean_   
_when it don't mean a thing_   
_When we say good-bye."_

 

**Chapter One**

March 1989 Dallas, Texas

Special-Agent-in-Charge Walter Skinner was not happy. He had just returned from an out-of-state conference to the news that the nephew of the mayor of Sherman, Texas had been killed by an apparent serial killer, now nicknamed "The Sherman Strangler" by the press. This had been followed by a botched stakeout, one of his ASACs hospitalized in critical care, a high-profile agent from DC also in the hospital with a broken leg, and now he had to explain the situation to that agent's ASAC. SAC Skinner was definitely not happy, and the agents at the Dallas office took cover as he strode down the hallway toward his office.

In the outer office, he paused to snarl at his secretary, "Get Reggie Purdue on the line for me, then I want everyone involved in this damned investigation in the conference room in thirty minutes." He slammed his office door behind him, then took off his suit jacket and settled at his desk to review the case file.

There was a tap on the door and Rebecca entered, carrying a cup of coffee. "ASAC Purdue's on line one," she said calmly, setting the coffee mug on the desk. "SSA Lewis, and Agents Sinclair, Nelson and Duncan are in the office. Moncrief is on his way in with the other DC agent."

"Thanks," Skinner said gruffly. Rebecca just nodded; she had been his secretary for three years and was used to his temper. Skinner picked up the phone. "Hi, Reggie. Have you heard the news?"

"Just that Agent Lamana was injured in a stake-out. Did you get the perp?"

"No," Skinner said shortly. "The whole thing was a royal fuck-up. The North Texas office should have handled it, but the mayor has connections and it got dumped in our laps. ASAC Thompson was shot. It was touch and go, but it looks like he's going to pull through."

"Glad to hear that."

"Lamana broke his leg, but he's going to be okay. They'll be releasing him from the hospital in a couple days. You want me to send his partner on home?"

There was a puzzled silence on the other end of the phone. "You don't need the kid there?"

"Kid? What kid - oh, Lamana's partner? Thanks, but I've got enough experienced agents - "

There was an amused sound from the other end of the phone. "Not like Agent Mulder."

"Mulder? Fox Mulder? ISU's golden boy? What's he doing here?"

"He's one of *my* boys now, and he's trying to profile your serial killer, as requested by ASAC Thompson." There was a slight pause. "Thompson didn't mention that? Well, I understand that he and Mulder didn't hit it off too well."

"I had no idea." The tone of his voice did not bode well for ASAC Thompson when he got out of the hospital. "Yes, I'd like to keep Agent Mulder here for awhile, if that's all right with you."

"No problem. I'd like to ask you a favor, though."

"Certainly. I seem to owe you several on this case alone."

"Keep an eye on the kid for me, will you? Normally Jerry would look out for him, but with him in the hospital..."

"He's hardly a kid, Reggie. He's a grown man, a Federal Agent."

Reggie sighed. "He's a genius, Walter, with an equal talent for getting into trouble. And he was in ISU with Patterson for three years. This case is going to be rough on him."

Skinner digested that information. Patterson had a reputation for burning out talented profilers. "Okay. I'll look out for him. Thanks, Reggie."

"No problem. Hey, I saw Sharon in town the other day. Didn't get a chance to say hello, though."

Skinner closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Yeah, she's visiting her folks. I'll tell her you were asking about her when she calls."

"Do that. Maybe we can get together for dinner while she's out here."

Skinner ended the call, staring sightlessly at the desk for a few minutes. Then he drew a deep breath and prepared to go demolish his agents.

* * *

 

The five agents were already seated in the conference room when he arrived, four of them talking quietly among themselves. Skinner immediately identified Agent Mulder - the young man was sitting to one side, not participating in the discussion - and crossed to his side. He held out his hand.

"Agent Mulder?"

Mulder rose hastily. "Yes, sir?"

"Walter Skinner." Skinner shook his hand warmly, quickly assessing the man. Young and nervy-looking; he'd seen that type before. Christ, no wonder Reggie was worried. "Thank you for coming to help us with this case. I'm sorry about your partner, but I hear that he's going to be just fine."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." The young man flushed as if embarrassed by the attention.

"I just spoke with ASAC Purdue, and he's going to let me keep you for a few days longer, if that's okay with you?" The young man nodded, and Skinner gave him one of his brief, tight smiles. "Good. Now, let's get down to business. Agent Lewis, your report."

The other agents had relaxed as Skinner exchanged pleasantries with the DC agent, relieved that the "Bulldog" appeared to be in a good mood. Their relief evaporated quickly as SAC Skinner proceeded to rip a layer off each of their hides. It was supposed to be a simple stakeout of the first crime scene based on a tip that the murderer was going to return. It turned into an interrupted drug deal, resulting in the shooting of ASAC Thompson and, somehow in the debacle, Agent Lamana had fallen and broken his leg. Skinner felt like he was in the middle of a Keystone Kops film. He was furious, and he made sure that each of his agents knew it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that the DC agent was absorbed in studying his notepad, although a small smile quirked one corner of his mouth. From the looks that his agents were directing toward Agent Mulder from time to time, he had the feeling that Mulder had known all along that the stakeout was a mistake, had mentioned it to the Dallas agents, and had been ignored. The antagonism they were showing toward him did not bode well for the future investigation of this case.

When he had finished demolishing their actions, their character, and their parentage, Skinner turned to the DC agent. "Agent Mulder, I understand that you have a profile on our killer - a different profile than the one ASAC Thompson outlined."

"Yes, sir. I also told Thompson that the killer was finished in Sherman, but he wouldn't listen." Mulder's tone was just short of rude. "What's the point of bringing me here if he wasn't going to listen to me?"

Thompson had said that the DC agents couldn't profile their way out of a plastic bag with instructions inside. He hadn't mentioned Mulder by name, just ranted about damn rent-a-goons from DC thinking that they were hot stuff. It was dead obvious that the two had rubbed each other wrong. Mulder's borderline arrogance would have infuriated the older agent but didn't phase Skinner. He had cracked far harder nuts than Mulder.

Skinner raised an eyebrow and growled, "*I'm* listening, Agent Mulder. Would you tell us what we are looking for?"

Mulder nodded and in a flat, dispassionate voice said, "The killer is male, Hispanic, between twenty and twenty-nine, and what they call a disorganized serial killer. He's of average intelligence, shy, sexually incompetent, lives alone and has a poor work history. He doesn't know the victims, but he does know the places where he commits the murders. He strangles his victims, then removes their clothes although he doesn't assault or mutilate them - yet. He leaves the victims where he killed them.

"His primary father-figure was an itinerant worker or had some job that caused the family to move frequently and was not his natural father. A stepfather, foster-father, mother's boyfriend, uncle - something like that. He was sexually abused by this man, as was a younger brother or stepbrother. His victims are hustlers between the ages of ten and fourteen, so it is probable that his own abuse and/or his brother's abuse began when they were ten. The father left the family when he was fourteen - possibly he went to prison although not for the sexual abuse. The father returned or was released two to three years ago, which is when he began killing - "

"The first murder only occurred two months ago," corrected Supervisory Special Agent Lewis, a little smugly. Skinner stared pointedly at his agent, and Lewis shut his mouth.

"The first *Sherman* murder," Mulder agreed. "Two years ago there were two murders with the same MO in Amarillo, followed by two murders in Lubbock six months later. Five months later there were two murders in Abilene, followed four months later by two murders in Plano. Three months later he started in Sherman. He is escalating, and he left the Sherman area two or three weeks ago. He is already in the Wichita Falls area, and he will start killing within the next 48 hours. The violence is also escalating. With the first three sets of victims, he removed the clothing with his hands. With the last two sets he began cutting the clothing off the victim, and it is probable that his next victims will involve slashing of the genitals."

"Are you saying that he has already killed ten people and no one noticed the pattern till now?" Skinner demanded.

Mulder shrugged. "The victims are, except for the last one, young boys: poor, street hustlers, immigrants, unnoticed by the system. Like he was. His mistake was that his second Sherman victim was the mayor's nephew, so the murder was headline news. That scared him - he doesn't get a thrill from seeing headlines or revisiting the murder sites. That's why I knew he wouldn't be at the stakeout site. What he does scares him, but he can't stop himself."

"Well, then, we'll have to stop him," Skinner said. "Mulder, why Wichita Falls?"

"He's going in a loop, moving back toward Amarillo where he started."

Skinner nodded, accepting this, much to the surprise of his agents. "Lewis, alert the Senior Resident Agent in Lubbock - I think that's Michaels - and tell him to expect us in Wichita Falls this afternoon. Have him co-ordinate with our local office, the police, and the State patrol in Wichita Falls and see that they all have a copy of Mulder's profile on the killer. I want immediate contact on any homicides in the area that fit the MO. Moncrief, get on the central computer and locate the father. Check for a prisoner released between two and three years ago that was incarcerated," he paused and looked at Mulder.

"Between 1975 and 1980. Probably served 5-to-10 for armed robbery or a similar crime, arrested in either Amarillo or Wichita Falls, released to the Amarillo area. He will be Caucasian or Hispanic."

"Got that?" Skinner asked, and Moncrief nodded. "When you get a list of possibles, fax a copy to the Wichita Falls office, and then get as many agents as you need for a phone canvas, and contact the Amarillo office to make house calls." He looked at Lewis, Sinclair, Duncan and Nelson. "Gentlemen, pack your bags. We leave in two hours. Requisition two Bureau cars."

The meeting broke up, the agents hurrying off to get ready. Mulder said, "Sir, may I speak to you for a minute?"

"Of course, Agent Mulder." After the room was empty, Mulder looked directly into his eyes. There was a bleak, desolate look in those sharp eyes. It shook Skinner to see this confident, even arrogant young man suddenly look as forlorn as a child. God damn it, Reggie, he thought, what have you got me into?

"Sir, we have to stop him in Wichita Falls. If we don't, he's going to move somewhere else, somewhere out of state, and I don't know where."

"Then we'll have to be sure we get him there," Skinner said briskly. "Pack your bags, Agent Mulder. I'll pick you up at your motel in two hours."

 

**Chapter Two**

It was mid-afternoon when they arrived in Wichita Falls and checked into their hotel. The young DC agent had sat quietly in the back seat on the drive, apparently lost in thought, while Skinner and Sinclair made small talk in the front about sports and agency rumors. Sinclair was excited about being on the team and a little awed at being this close to the SAC, and Skinner hid his inner smile. God, was he ever this young and naive when he was a first-office agent? Probably not, he thought bleakly; 'Nam had taken away most of his youth and naivete. He regretted separating Sinclair from his partner, Moncrief, but the fact was that Moncrief was the best man to turn up the information they needed from the computer systems. He'd make sure that Sinclair was paired up with Lewis for this case, which would keep him out of trouble.

Skinner had booked a two-bedroom suite for himself and Mulder so that the team would have a place to meet and he could keep an eye on Mulder. The other four agents were booked into two adjoining rooms a few floors down and, after dumping their luggage, assembled in Skinner's suite for a quick briefing. They had just begun planning their course of action when the phone rang.

"Skinner."

"Sir, this is Michaels out of Lubbock. SSA Lewis advised us that you would be in Wichita Falls and told us about the serial killer."

"Thank you, Michaels. We'll be heading into the local office shortly-"

"Sir," Michaels interrupted, "the Wichita Falls police department just contacted us about a murder that sounds like it fits the pattern you're looking for."

The hair on the back of Skinner's neck rose and he turned slowly to stare at Agent Mulder. The young man was sitting on the couch studying a notepad and cracking sunflower seeds, looking like a completely normal human being. Skinner drew a deep breath and turned back to the phone.

"When did it happen?"

He could tell that the others had picked up on his terse question as all conversation halted, and he felt eyes on his back.

"They just found the body about an hour ago, and figure the murder was committed around noon. The detective realized it fit the pattern for your serial killer. The body hasn't been moved yet, per Agent Lewis' instructions."

"Give me directions." Skinner gestured for a pad, and took the one thrust at him. "We're on our way."

He hung up the phone and turned to his men. "The local police found a body an hour ago that appears to match our killer's MO."

He didn't look at Mulder but he could sense the sudden change in the feel of the room. The other agents had been ignoring the DC agent, snubbing him, but now as one they stared at him, their mouths almost dropping open. Mulder appeared not to notice, continuing to doodle on his pad, but Skinner could sense somehow the stiffening in that slender body, as if he dreaded being right.

"I don't want to jump to conclusions till we're certain," Skinner continued, "but if our killer has struck again, then we may have a chance of catching him this time. Let's go."

At the crime scene, Skinner flashed his badge at the officer maintaining the perimeter. They gave him their names and badge numbers for the log, then ducked under the crime scene tape. The police detective assigned to the case, a Detective Wilson, met them.

"What have you got?" Skinner asked.

"Hispanic male, approximately fourteen, ID unknown as yet. Appears to have been strangled and mutilated. Due to the amount of blood I would guess that death occurred prior to the mutilation. The coroner will be able to tell us more. This way, sir."

"Who found the body?"

"Couple of teens. This area is pretty deserted, a sort of lover's lane, and they were looking for a quick thrill. Guess they got more than they wanted. They're already at the station, giving their statements. We were getting ready to pack up the scene when the Chief told us about your serial killer."

Skinner turned. "Lewis, you and Sinclair head over to the police station and talk to the kids. See if we can get any ID on the victim. Maybe they know him. If you get an ID, talk to the family and see if they know anything."

Lewis nodded and they headed back to the cars. Mulder had continued following the detective and, when Skinner caught up with them, was staring dispassionately down at the body, hands jabbed deep in the pockets of his trench coat. The lab boys were just finishing up when they arrived, having already taken the crime scene photos and collected the physical evidence. An ambulance stood over to one side ready to take the body to the morgue.

Skinner's first thoughts were that the boy was so young, too young to be lying here. The bruises around his neck were evident, as was the discoloration of the face, but in life the boy must have been beautiful. He halted next to Mulder, studying the corpse, noting that the genitals had been removed.

"That's new," he murmured to Mulder. "You were right again. He *is* escalating. It *is* our man's work, isn't it?"

Mulder nodded and reached into the pocket of his coat, pulling out a latex glove, which he pulled on his right hand. Crouching down, he examined the neck injuries, the mutilated genital area, then picked up the right hand, which was enclosed in a plastic bag, and examined it.

The coroner joined him. "Got something there?"

"This one was a fighter, and he wasn't completely surprised like the others. Looks like he's got some skin and blood under his nails."

The coroner nodded. "Maybe we'll get a break. Anything in particular you want me to look for? Signs of assault?"

"He wasn't assaulted," Mulder said absently. He stood and looked around, visually checking out the area. They were in the parking lot behind an old factory, and the site was overgrown with weeds and strewn with trash, ringed by hedges and scraggly trees. "Detective Wilson?"

"Yes, Agent - "

"Mulder. This is a pretty isolated area, not something your local tourist would find. You said it had a reputation as a 'sort of lover's lane.'"

Detective Wilson nodded. "It's a popular place for the younger hustlers to bring their 'friends.' Pretty deserted during the day, though. Pure chance that those kids would choose to cut school and find the body during daylight."

Mulder's eyes still looked unfocused. "He knows this place. The man brought him here. There was another man with him, and they hurt him. He was bleeding."

The detective looked puzzled. "I thought that you were looking for one killer."

Mulder seemed to come back to himself. "We are."

"You think the killer was brought here as a boy and raped?" Skinner asked and Mulder nodded. "Why two men?"

Mulder gestured toward the body. "The level of violence. I expected slashing as the next step, not mutilation. And the next one will be even worse."

He glanced over at the coroner, then at the detective and Skinner. "We need to know the time of death as closely as possible. And we need to find out if there were any witnesses, anyone who saw the boy being picked up."

Skinner nodded and assigned that task to his two remaining agents who went with the detective. After they left, Skinner watched Mulder watch the body being loaded.

"Good work, Mulder," he said quietly.

"Not good enough," Mulder said tightly. "We should have been here a week ago. That boy would still be alive if we had been."

"You tried. It's not your fault if Thompson didn't listen." He looked at Mulder curiously. "What happened, by the way?"

Mulder's eyes were hooded, concealing his thoughts. "I didn't believe that the Monterey boy was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"The mayor's nephew? A hustler?"

Mulder shrugged. "Wouldn't be the first time."

"And you weren't exactly discrete with your suspicions? I bet that made you popular with the local citizens of Sherman," Skinner said, grinning wryly.

Mulder glanced up at Skinner, and the SAC could swear for a moment that he saw a gleam of humor in the hazel eyes. "I'm used to being popular like that."

"I noticed." Skinner reached out to grasp Mulder's shoulder briefly, and Mulder looked up at him, startled. "Come on; let's see how Duncan and Lewis are doing."

 

**Chapter Three**

 

"Any ideas on places we should start looking? And how long we have before he kills again?"

The team was gathered around a conference table at the local office, the remnants of pizza boxes lying to one side, reports and folders scattered across the table. Mulder had written the statistics about the eleven victims on the board and taped the crime scene photos for each. He leaned against the table, staring at the board, as if he expected something there to talk to him. Perhaps he did, thought Skinner.

Lewis and Sinclair had gotten a positive ID on the newest victim, one Miguel Alvarez, a well-known hustler with no family. They were still waiting for the autopsy report.

"Forty-eight hours," Mulder said quietly, responding to Skinner's question. "That's been consistent throughout."

Mulder turned and picked up a folder, but Skinner got the impression that he was not seeing the information on the page, just the data in his head. "He works with his hands. Mechanic maybe, something involving cars. There was engine oil on several of the bodies, just traces that he couldn't get cleaned off his hands. Possibly a tow-truck driver; that might give him the opportunity to cruise the area looking for his victims. People don't pay much attention to such things."

Skinner picked up a pad and made notes. "You said he was a loner. Any ideas on where he would be staying?"

Mulder dropped into a chair and closed his eyes, rubbing his temples as if to banish a headache. "Not a boarding house - too scary with all those other people around. Someplace anonymous. A furnished apartment, possibly an extended-stay motel. He's been here about three weeks, and he'll have paid in advance for four weeks." He opened his eyes again, and they were a little unfocused, as if he was looking inside himself for the answers to Skinner's questions. "He'll have regular habits: same diner for breakfast and dinner. Always eats alone - no friends, no girls. The younger waitresses won't pay attention to him, and the older ones fuss over him. He doesn't like either, but prefers not getting attention."

"So a diner with young waitresses, then?" Lewis said with a sigh.

"Must be dozens of those in this town."

Skinner was surprised at both Lewis' quick grasp of Mulder's statements and his ready acceptance of them. It appeared that the discovery of the body just where Mulder predicted had nullified his doubts of the DC agent. The hostility seemed to have been replaced by an awed wariness, as if his agents were watching Mulder out of the corner of their eyes. It looked like another Mulder-legend was in the making.

"He'll be eating close to where he is staying," Skinner said, looking for Mulder's nod of confirmation. "That should reduce our list of places to check. Any ID from the witnesses?"

Duncan shook his head. "Two of the local hustlers saw the Alvarez kid being picked up in an old blue pickup. They didn't see the tag and didn't pay attention to the driver. They said he went willingly, and confirmed that he was picked up two hours before his body was found. Those two kids just missed the murderer."

"Lucky for them," Skinner said with a sigh. "Well, we'll need to check out the local car repair shops and towing companies, as well as furnished rentals, but we can't do anything more tonight. Head on back to the hotel."

The other agents nodded and pulled themselves together, straggling out of the room with Lewis. Skinner removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, looking over at Mulder. The young man was slouched back in his chair, staring up at the board again.

"Mulder, that means you, too."

"Just a few more minutes," Mulder murmured without moving his eyes, sounding for all the world like a kid asking for a bedtime extension.

Skinner decided that the "kid" analogy was very appropriate. His hair was tousled, his eyes over-bright with excitement, and his body seemed to be shaking a little from fatigue. He looked absurdly young.

"You must have that board memorized by now, Mulder; staring at it for a few more minutes isn't going to help." Skinner put back on his glasses and stood. "Come on, Agent Mulder."

Mulder sighed but stood up and followed Skinner down to the car.

 

 

**Chapter Four**

 

Skinner woke to the sound of screaming. For a moment he was disoriented, waiting for the sound of gunfire. Then he realized he was in a hotel, not the jungle, and the screams were coming from the other room. Mulder.

He ran into the other bedroom and found the young man thrashing in the grip of a nightmare. He leaned over and shook Mulder.

"Mulder! Wake up, Mulder!" There was no response. He sat down on the bed and firmly grasped Mulder's shoulders. "Fox! Come on, son, wake up."

Mulder stopped thrashing, catching his breath on a sob. "S-sorry, sir."

"It's okay, Mulder. It was just a nightmare."

Mulder's eyes snapped open and he stared for a moment, then sighed. "Oh, it's you, sir."

"You okay, Mulder?"

"Yeah."

Skinner got up to leave and felt Mulder's hand suddenly clutch his arm.

"Sir?"

The voice was tight, rough from screaming, and Skinner could hear the shakiness in it. He turned the bedside lamp on low, studied the ashen face briefly.

"Back in a minute." He went into the bathroom, ran the tap until the water ran cold, and filled a glass. When he brought it back, Mulder sat up and gratefully drained the glass.

"Thanks." Mulder handed the glass back and Skinner set it on the night stand. Skinner saw that some color was returning to Mulder's face.

"Want me to stay till you fall asleep again?"

A corner of his mouth turned up. "Gonna read me a bedtime story, sir?"

"Smart-ass," Skinner growled good-naturedly, sitting on the edge of the bed again.

Mulder chuckled weakly. "Is this what you learn in management training, sir?"

"You'd be surprised what they teach us, Agent Mulder."

Mulder smiled and leaned back against the headboard, studying Skinner and the older man suddenly felt like a bug under a magnifying glass. "I don't suppose you take care of your agents like this, so what did Reggie tell you about me?"

Skinner considered for a moment then decided this young man preferred honesty. "He asked me to look out for you since your partner is in the hospital. I take it that these nightmares are common occurrences?"

Mulder shrugged. "Yeah. Cases with kids are the worst."

"They're hard on anyone. Must be harder when you're trying to become the monster."

"You've heard Patterson's spiel."

"More than once. There are people who still don't believe profiling is of value. Bill runs his dog-and-pony show at every opportunity. So how long ago did you leave the ISU?"

"Six months, seventeen days and twelve hours - but who's counting?" Mulder snorted. "Out of the frying pan into the fire. Shit, they're just *kids*."

Skinner nodded, and they were quiet for a long moment. The room was shadowy, slightly out of focus without his glasses, giving it a surreal feeling. Combined with their hushed voices, Skinner felt as if he had stepped into a different reality where nothing existed but the semi-darkness and this other man. Distant memories of other nights rose to the surface of his mind, nights of darkness and terror and longing. Nights where the fear of death and the unknown had somehow made it easier to share the darkness and fear within.

Without even realizing it, he found himself talking aloud. "I can't imagine what it would be like to lose a child like that. My wife and I tried to have children. After three miscarriages, she said no more. It hurt too much. But it would be a hundred times worse to lose a child like this."

He saw something like pain cross Mulder's face and his first thought was that he was an idiot to bring up the case when Mulder was already having nightmares about it. Then he realized that it was something else, something older.

"Mulder, what is it?" he asked softly. There was no reason why the young man should talk to him, no reason but the dark and the inexplicable link he felt growing between them.

Mulder studied him again, then lay back down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. When he spoke his voice was soft like a whisper, a lost voice in the dark filled with pain. "I lost my sister when I was twelve. She was eight."

"What happened?" Skinner asked softly.

Mulder sighed. "No one knows for sure. The police said it appeared she was taken from her bed in the middle of the night. I was baby-sitting her; my parents were next door at a party. The police never found her.

"For a while I think they thought I did it. I was the only one home, and I can't remember what happened." Dark eyes turned toward Skinner, as if watching for his reaction. "Some of the guys in the ISU thought that's why I was so good at profiling killers, particularly the baby-killers. Because I'm one myself."

"My God, Mulder," Skinner said softly. "And Patterson let them get away with that?" Was he mistaken, or did the pain in those eyes lighten, just a little?

Mulder shrugged, closing his eyes briefly, cutting the visual connection between them, but Skinner could still feel *something*, some energy vibrating between them. "As long as it didn't reduce my efficiency, Patterson didn't give a damn. And he probably agreed with them. Have you ever been to the ISU, sir?" Skinner shook his head, and Mulder smiled mirthlessly. "Level LL - 'low-low at Quantico'. Sixty feet underground, ten times deeper than they bury people, and we *were* buried down there. Working forty to fifty cases at a time, most of them ones with dried-up leads that were sent to us as a last resort. Plus the headline cases - Patterson loved those. Trotting out his pet profilers for the big shots and heaven help us if we screwed up. Only I never did." There was no arrogance or pride in his voice, just a simple statement of fact. "And that really smoked his ass because I was the only one there not kissing it."

Skinner chuckled and Mulder glanced up at him, a faint smile crossing his face. "You must have made the man's life hell, Mulder. Thank God you don't work for me!"

Mulder grinned, a real smile that lit up his face and made his eyes glow in the low light, and Skinner caught his breath as the faint longing he felt burst into a sudden surge of desire. It had been a long time since he had felt this way about anyone, man or woman, and he had a sudden urge to lower his head and touch that sensual mouth with his own lips. He bit the inside of his mouth and looked away.

"So how did you get out of ISU?"

The smile went away, like the sun behind the clouds, and Skinner found himself wishing that it would come back out again. Mulder pushed himself back up into a sitting position.

"Monty Props. After that, the A.D. wanted me so bad for the VCU that he must have kissed every ass in the Justice Department." He grimaced a little in remembrance. "I can still see Patterson's face when I told him I was quitting the ISU. Made it all worth it. Or so I thought."

"Is it worse in Violent Crimes?"

Mulder sighed. "Yes and no. Reggie's great to work for; he doesn't give me shit, and I get the job done. Lower case load and at least I get to see daylight - in a dozen different cities each month. With my frequent flyer miles, I could go to the moon and back a couple times. It's - different being at the site. Easier to profile, harder to deal with." He turned his head and looked at Skinner, eyes glinting, speculating. "And God knows why I'm telling you all this."

As their eyes met again, Skinner felt the energy humming between them go up another notch. Deliberately, he damped it down, retreating from these dangerous feelings. He shrugged. "Same thing happened in 'Nam, under stress. I told my buddies things I wouldn't tell my best friend back home, much less my parents."

Mulder studied him. "You weren't regular army. Special forces? Green beret?"

Skinner looked amused and growled, "Are you profiling me, Agent Mulder?"

A corner of his mouth lifted in a grin, but it was only a shadow of his former smile. "I'm always profiling." He rubbed tired eyes with his fingers. The light glinted off the ring on his left hand. "What does your wife think of all this?"

"My wife?" Mulder looked blank, then dropped his eyes to the ring and, to Skinner's amusement, began blushing. "I'm not married. It's camouflage, to throw the hunters off the track."

Skinner couldn't help himself; he threw back his head and roared with laughter. "Oh, God!" he said when he could talk again. "I remember that the secretarial pool was always on the prowl for fresh meat. You would be an irresistible treat to them."

"You were at Headquarters, sir?"

Skinner nodded. "My first assignment was at the DC area office, and I had occasion to go to Headquarters a couple times during those three years. Then I was transferred to another field office. I met my wife while I was in DC." He thought back to those early days with longing, when the passion had been so intense. Before their hopes for a child had been dashed. Before the moves from one assignment to another made her bitter and resentful over the setbacks to her own career even as his soared. Before she returned to her parents "to think things over" two months ago, after the last baby. Before he had lost the only woman he had ever truly loved, perhaps forever.

He realized that Mulder was studying him gravely, the sharp mind interpreting and filing away every emotion that crossed Skinner's face. He had never felt so vulnerable, so exposed. He felt suddenly irritated and turned away, swinging his feet to the floor.

"Doesn't that ring interfere with your own pursuits, Agent Mulder?"

Mulder shrugged. "I don't have much time for a social life, sir. I can barely remember what my apartment looks like. And, since the last woman I was involved with screwed me over in more ways than one, I haven't been too eager to repeat the experience. My more recent lovers are used to a wedding ring as a cover story."

Skinner turned and looked back at the younger man who was now sitting up against the headboard again. Mulder had practically admitted to him, a senior FBI agent, that he had been involved with men, and he could see that the younger man was studying his face, gauging his reaction to this news. And how *did* he feel about it? Not shocked, as he was bisexual himself. He felt another wave of desire flood over him, knew that he wanted this beautiful young man more than he had ever wanted anyone in his life, and was appalled to realize that this emotion, too, was visible on his face. Disgusted with himself, he started to get up and retreat back to his own room.

A hand on his arm and a word, a single word, stopped him. "Walter."

He turned back and looked into eyes that were so green and deep and hot, like the jungle where he had first had a male lover, that he felt he could fall into those eyes and be lost forever.

"Mulder..."

Long, slender fingers were on his lips. "Hush."

And SAC Walter Skinner, terror of many an agent, was reduced to silence, shaking with the passion and need that filled him. Then a warm mouth replaced those fingers, kissing him with a need equal to his own, and he lost all control. With a growl he pushed the younger man flat, pinning him with his own body, devouring that hot mouth, his hands impatiently stripping away the T-shirt and boxers so that he could caress that body. Then, to his surprise, he found himself rolled under the younger man as Mulder reversed positions. And it was a heady feeling to have a lover who was nearly his own size - slenderer and lighter, but strong and quick and eager, so damned eager that Skinner thought he would lose it before they had hardly started.

Mulder stripped Skinner's pajamas off and kissed his way down Skinner's body, teasing his nipples, nipping at the flat stomach, his hands everywhere at once. Skinner groaned as the young man ran his tongue along his cock then, with a single motion, took it deep into his mouth. He bucked involuntarily, trying not to move, not to force himself too deeply into the other man's mouth, but Mulder seemed not to care. He was sucking and caressing, all that beautiful intensity directed at the body beneath him, and Skinner felt the nearly unbearable pressure building within him. And it had been long, so long since he had felt this pleasure that he knew he wasn't going to last much longer. He grasped the head between his legs, trying to pull it up, to warn the young man, but Mulder ignored that and continued to suck and caress until Skinner suddenly bucked hard and felt his release shoot out of him. The younger man was there, continuing to suck and swallow until the pleasure threatened to become pain. And he seemed to know that, too, because he had released the now-flaccid cock and his mouth was moving back up Skinner's body in gentle, loving caresses until his mouth was back on the older man's, gently kissing him.

Skinner wrapped his arms around the younger man, holding him tight while he attempted to get back some remnant of his sanity and to slow his heartbeat. That silken skin felt like molten lava where it pressed against his own skin, and a hard warmth against his belly reminded him that the favor needed to be returned.

He drew a deep, shuddering breath and murmured, "My God, Fox. That was incredible."

"Mulder," he corrected, a hint of laughter and passion combined in his voice that made Skinner's blood fire again. "Everyone calls me Mulder."

"Bullshit," Skinner said succinctly, then grinned into the younger man's face. "You're 'Agent Mulder' out there, not in here. Fox."

And his hands began to caress the younger man's skin, his mouth moving to nip at the spot where his neck and shoulder joined.

"Why do I get the feeling that you're going to call me whatever you want, whether I like it or not?" Mulder complained with a laugh, allowing himself to be rolled onto his back so that Skinner could more fully explore his body.

"Because you're a genius," Skinner said, teasing a nipple with his tongue, "and your profile on me in that incredible mind of yours has told you that I'm a control freak. It could be worse. Be thankful I'm not into cute love names."

"You call me 'honey' or 'sweetheart' and I'm outta here," Mulder warned as he arched against the mouth on his nipples.

"What about 'babe'?"

"Fox. Call me Fox. Please."

Skinner chuckled, his mouth moving to the other nipple. "I thought you'd see things my way." Then he concentrated on reducing the younger man to silence, a task that he was only partially successful in for, although the sounds that Mulder made could not be interpreted as speech in any sense, he was a very vocal bedmate. Skinner was enjoying the sounds he was coaxing out of the young man, the way that his body wriggled uncontrollably under Skinner's caresses, and was startled when the young man suddenly stiffened and pulled away.

"No - I don't want you to - " A breathless voice, a little panicked.

Skinner realized that his hand had been caressing the firm ass, moving into the cleft between the cheeks. "I won't," he said softly, his hand gently stroking Mulder's arm. "I won't do anything you don't want me to do."

Mulder nodded, drew a shaky breath, and moved back into Skinner's arms. He pushed the younger man flat on his back so that his caresses only involved the front of Mulder's body, his hands and mouth urging the drooping cock back to attention. He took it into his mouth and, if he could not take it as deeply as Mulder had, he knew several tricks that soon had the young man writhing and bucking and then arching into his release with a scream that made Skinner grateful that his own agents were on another floor.

He moved back up to lay alongside Mulder, pulling him into his arms in spoon fashion, snagged the covers with his foot and, in a short time, both men were sound asleep.

 

 

**Chapter Five**

 

Skinner woke lying on his back with the feeling of Fox Mulder snuggled up against his side. It was a nice feeling. A leg was casually thrown across his leg and one of those long hands rested on his stomach. It had been a long time since he had woken up with the warm weight of a lover on his shoulder. Even before she left, he and Sharon had drifted into that old-married-couple pattern, sleeping on separate sides of the bed. He closed his mind against painful memories and glanced down at the head on his shoulder. Skinner smiled and wondered if the young man would be receptive to another lovemaking session. Glancing at the clock by the bed, he wondered if there was enough time before his agents arrived for the morning meeting. He needed a shower, too, and that thought made him smile again. Perhaps he could combine two pleasures.

Skinner kissed the top of the head resting on his shoulder. "Fox. Time to wake up."

Mulder murmured an incoherent protest, wriggling slightly closer, and buried his face against Skinner's neck. Skinner tightened his hold and felt his arousal growing.

"Fox."

Lips pressed against his neck briefly. "I'm asleep."

He chuckled softly. "Come on, Fox. We've got to get up."

"You're already up." Slender fingers wrapped around his cock and stroked gently. "You know, we really should do something about this. It would totally demoralize your agents to see you walking around in this state."

Skinner pulled Mulder's face up for a kiss. "Shower."

Mulder started to protest, and then a gleam came into his eyes. "Shared?"

"Are there any other kind?"

"How would I know? My love life can be detailed on the back of a matchbook."

Skinner laughed and Mulder released him. Mulder pushed himself up into a sitting position and stretched languidly, looking very cat-like. Skinner resisted an urge to tumble that body back onto the bed. Instead, he got out of the bed and picked up the phone.

"Hungry?"

"Very." Mulder grinned wickedly and knee-walked to the edge of the bed, his intentions clear on his face.

Skinner picked up the phone hastily and retreated to a safe distance.

"I'm going to order breakfast. Are you hungry?"

Mulder shrugged and flopped back down on the mattress on his back, closing his eyes. "Yes. No. It doesn't matter."

Skinner ran an appraising look over Mulder's body. "You're right. I'm getting you something to eat, too. You are way too skinny."

Mulder's eyes opened again and looked at him in bewildered amusement. "Anyone ever tell you that you're crazy?"

"Isn't that the pot calling the kettle black?" Skinner grinned at him and Mulder snorted.

After ordering breakfast, Skinner went into the bathroom to start the shower. He stepped in, enjoying the feel of the hot water on his skin, and a moment later the shower door slid open. A warm body pressed itself along his back as Mulder appropriated the soap and began lathering Skinner's body. Skinner closed his eyes and leaned his head back against Mulder's shoulder. He enjoyed the feel of those long, slender fingers moving up his arms, across his chest and down to his groin.

"We definitely need to do something about this," Mulder murmured in his ear.

"I'm open to suggestions."

He sighed with pleasure as Mulder's fingers once more wrapped around his cock, slowly stroking him. Skinner smiled as he felt the evidence of Mulder's arousal against his back and turned. He backed Mulder against the shower wall, kissing him thoroughly. Mulder responded eagerly, grinding his groin against Skinner, his hands caressing Skinner's back. They quickly raced toward release, exploding within seconds of each other, then sagged against the shower wall for support as they caught their breath.

Skinner sighed and raised his head from Mulder's shoulder to press a kiss against Mulder's mouth. "Breakfast will be here shortly."

A grin crossed Mulder's face. "Have you noticed that you have an unhealthy obsession with food?"

"Only where you're concerned." Skinner pushed away from him reluctantly and turned off the water. "After all, I've got to keep up your strength."

He left the bathroom, hearing Mulder's delighted laughter behind him.

Skinner crossed the main room to his own bedroom where he dried himself and put on his robe before opening the door to room service.

Mulder came into the main room dressed in sweats, his towel-dried hair sticking up and making him look absurdly young, and threw himself into a chair. He picked up a case folder and opened it.

Skinner piled a plate with food and set it down on the table next to Mulder, along with a cup of coffee, and twitched the folder out of Mulder's hands.

"Hey!" Mulder protested.

"Eat first. The file isn't going anywhere."

"I'm not hungry," Mulder objected, starting to look rebellious.

Skinner's eyes met his for a long moment before the agent flushed and looked away. Skinner hid a smile and turned on the TV, locating a sports channel that was showing a replay of last night's basketball game. A few minutes later, Skinner glanced over and saw that Mulder was absorbed in the game and absently eating. He suppressed another smile.

"You played basketball in high school?" he asked casually.

Mulder nodded. "Forward. We were pretty good, too."

"Guard," said Skinner, indicating himself.

Mulder looked surprised. "I would have figured you for a football player."

"I was a skinny kid in high school, all arms and legs. I didn't start putting on muscle till I joined the marines."

"Marines, huh? I knew you weren't regular army," Mulder said with satisfaction. "But I didn't expect basketball."

"I like to surprise people. Do the unexpected."

"Now *that* I noticed." Mulder toyed with the food on his plate for a moment, then set it down and looked at Skinner squarely. "About what happened - "

The face across from his was guarded, but Skinner could see the passing of emotions through those hazel eyes, and his heart ached. What had happened to this young man in the past so that he automatically assumed Skinner was going to take what he wanted and leave? And what made him accept that kind of treatment as normal? He still felt that invisible connection between them, but the boyish, confiding Fox was gone and back in his place was the enigmatic and slightly arrogant Mulder. He sighed, wondered if this had been the worst idea he had ever had, then decided that it was too late for regrets. Did he really regret seducing/being seduced by Fox Mulder?

No. His only regret was that he didn't have a clue on how to reach the young man now.

"I have no regrets," Skinner said firmly. "I enjoyed the hell out of myself. I think we both needed this."

Mulder dropped his eyes, flushing a little, and said diffidently, "Yes. Thank you."

"Thank *you*, Mulder. Now, eat your breakfast. Lord knows when we'll get a chance to eat again today."

The phone rang and he picked it up. "Skinner." He listened for a moment, then looked over at Mulder. "Autopsy report is in." He listened again and said, "We'll be there in an hour." He disconnected and rang Lewis' room. "Lewis, get everyone going. We roll in 30 minutes. The game's afoot."

As he hung up he caught Mulder's grin. "A Holmes' fan, sir? Another surprise."

Skinner snorted. "Not all FBI bureaucrats are illiterate slobs, Mulder. I happen to be well read. I can even quote Whitman and T.S. Eliot."

Mulder laughed, his eyes dancing, and Skinner felt a physical response to that sight. "Now *that* I would love to hear."

"Later," Skinner said with a growl and disappeared into his room to get dressed. When he returned to the main room, Mulder had changed into a suit with a tie that walked a fine line between ugly and garish. Two of the other agents had already arrived and were gulping down coffee from the room service cart. All three were discussing the March Madness games animatedly, and Skinner was relieved to see that Duncan and Nelson seemed to have no problem with the DC agent now that he had proven himself.

All three men stood up as he entered and he waved for them to take their seats again. Lewis and Sinclair arrived a moment later, and Skinner broke them into teams sending Lewis and Sinclair to check out the garages and towing companies, and Duncan and his partner to check out the extended stay motels and furnished apartments. He and Mulder were heading to the medical examiner's office. They would check in at noon and meet at the local FBI office at five p.m. to compare notes. He reminded them that they had only thirty-six hours to catch the man before he killed again, and everyone scattered to their respective tasks.

 

 

**Chapter Six**

 

Skinner and Mulder were met by the county pathologist and followed him to the autopsy bay. The body was still on the table, looking dwarfed by the size of the room. When the pathologist flipped back the sheet dispassionately, Skinner saw Mulder swallow convulsively out of the corner of his eye. He thought it ironic that the young man didn't bat an eyelash at the crime scene but seemed very uncomfortable looking at death here in this sterile room.

"Deceased is a young male, thirteen years of age. He's been identified as Miguel Alvarez, cause of death manual strangulation. There are bruises and nail marks left on the skin. We collected the skin and blood samples under the nails and are processing them. Following death, the genitals were removed from the victim. The victim was not sexually assaulted, the testicles were full, and there is no evidence of anal insertion." He looked up at Mulder. "Just what you expected."

Mulder nodded and Skinner asked for a copy of the report. The pathologist had it ready and gave it to them, and Skinner quickly led Mulder out of the building.

"You okay?" he asked in concern, watching the young man lean against the car, shaking.

"Yeah. Give me a minute."

Skinner nodded, unlocking the car and sitting down to look over the autopsy report. After a few minutes, Mulder slipped into the passenger side.

"Sorry, sir."

"No problem. Where do you want to go next?"

"Back to the crime scene," Mulder replied.

Mulder was quiet on the drive, reading over the report and then staring blankly out the window. Skinner was quiet, letting the young man process the information in peace. When they arrived at the site, Mulder got out and looked around. He was studying the ground intently, walking slowly down the alley from the front of the factory toward the back where the body had been discovered.

"Tire tracks," he said, pointing them out. "Pretty fresh ones, too. A truck, not the ambulance. Looks like the lab boys got a cast of it. He drove up here, and they got out." He looked around again. "Sir, would you mind bringing the car up here?" Skinner did so, and Mulder studied the area again. "The truck would have been higher, blocked more, but he was taking a hell of a risk coming here in the day time," Mulder murmured, shaking his head. "Pure luck that he wasn't seen."

"You said he was familiar with the site, had been here before."

Mulder nodded absently then spent another hour rechecking the site.

Skinner sat in the car going over reports and leaving the agent alone. Finally he noticed that Mulder had been crouched next to the body outline for almost thirty minutes. He got out and walked over to Mulder.

"Agent Mulder?" he said softly.

Mulder sighed, sounding as if it was the first full breath he had taken for hours. He stood up. "Nothing more to see here."

Skinner looked at him curiously, but he appeared to be okay. They got back in the car and drove to the local FBI office. SSRA Michaels had arrived from Lubbock that morning and he was waiting for them when they arrived. Skinner introduced Mulder; Michaels shook hands and led them to the conference room they had taken over the previous day.

"Agent Lewis just called in, sir," he said. "They finished the garages on the south part of the city without any luck. They'll move to the north side after lunch. Can I get you something for lunch, sir?"

Skinner nodded. "Good idea. And we're expecting some faxes from the Dallas office today."

"I haven't seen anything yet, but I'll alert the Admins to be on the lookout." Michaels left.

Mulder studied the board as he had the night before, murmuring to himself, "There's something here I'm not seeing."

Skinner moved to stand next to him, looking at the board as well. "What *do* you see?"

Mulder sighed. "His next victim will be younger; he'll be looking for someone who looks like his younger brother. He thought Miguel was older. He was beautiful, a face like an angel. The man thought he looked too much like a girl; he called him names and hurt him."

Skinner thought Mulder was talking about Miguel Alvarez but realized that somewhere in the middle Mulder had switched to talking about the killer.

Mulder was starting to shake, and Skinner became worried. He put a hand on Mulder's arm, and Mulder jerked away, eyes wide.

"It's okay, Fox," he said gently. After a moment, the agent's breathing returned to normal. Michaels came in with take-out boxes of barbecue and Skinner steered Mulder into a seat, setting a box in front of him, then went to his own seat and began eating his lunch. Michaels joined them, looking curiously at Mulder who was staring blankly at his lunch as if the concept of food was foreign to him. Skinner deftly drew Michaels' attention to local Bureau matters. After a few minutes, he noticed out of the corner of his eye that Mulder had drawn a shuddering sigh and then began eating with determination if not enthusiasm.

The phone rang and Michaels picked it up, listened, then handed it to Skinner. "One of your agents, sir."

"Skinner."

"Agent Duncan, sir. We've got a possible at one of those efficiency motels that rent by the week."

"Hold on - I'm putting you on speaker. Okay, go on."

"A man in his twenties or early thirties rented a room for four weeks, paid in advance. Gave an out-of-state home address but paid in cash so they didn't check it. Vehicle listed is a truck, no color given, but we have the tag number."

"Sounds like a possible fit," Skinner said. "Is the subject there?"

"No, sir. His vehicle is gone, too." Duncan paused. "Sir, we're only halfway through our list. Do you want us to continue or wait here for the subject to return?"

"No, I'll have a surveillance team meet you there. Once they get there, continue with your list. Good work, Duncan."

"Yes, sir." Duncan disconnected, and Skinner turned to Michaels.

"Michaels, set up round-the-clock surveillance. Tell the teams that they are not to approach the subject but to advise when the subject returns." Michaels nodded and left to organize the teams.

By that evening, one more possible had turned up on the motel list and a second surveillance team was set up. Lewis' team hadn't found anything yet, but Mulder came up with an additional possibility: maintenance shops for trucking companies. Lewis and Sinclair headed back to the hotel to crash and start again early in the morning, while the others remained to try to correlate the information gathered so far. The faxes finally arrived from Dallas and Skinner dragged all of them back to the hotel.

 

 

**Chapter Seven**

 

Mulder went swimming after their return to the hotel then changed into sweats and sat cross-legged on the floor. He poured over the faxes and absently chewed on a sandwich from room service. Skinner stripped off his jacket and tie, rolled up his shirt sleeves, and sat on the couch going over the reports from his teams. He glanced up from time to time at the younger man, watching as Mulder crossed out one possible here, highlighted something on another one there, totally absorbed in his task. Skinner could feel that intangible energy humming in the air again. He felt an overwhelming desire to drag that beautiful body into his bed and make love to him, to turn that intensity back toward himself. He took a deep breath, squashing down those desires. Last night was one thing, a spur of the moment encounter; to continue with this was crazy. He found he wanted to be crazy, for once in his life.

Mulder pulled off his glasses and set them on the table, handing Skinner the faxes. "Well, I've narrowed it down to six. Damn! Thirty-six hours gone already. We're running out of time."

"I'll phone this into Moncrief's team." Skinner picked up the phone and called the Dallas office, giving Moncrief the names of the six possible stepfathers. "You have the list of questions Mulder wants asked? Good. Call me as soon as you get the answers." He hung up and removed his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Nothing more we can do tonight."

Mulder stretched out on the floor, lying on his back as he worked stiff muscles, then propped himself up on his elbows. "All right, Walter - give."

"I beg your pardon?" Skinner stared blankly at the young man, absorbing the image of sweatpants molded against long legs and across the groin.

A smile touched Mulder's lips as if he knew exactly what Skinner was looking at and what he was thinking about. The arrogant profiler had disappeared and the relaxed lover was back as if a switch had been thrown, and Skinner's heart began to pound.

"Poetry, Walter," he said gently. "You said you knew Whitman and Eliot. You promised to recite to me later. It is later."

Skinner hid a smile, saying blandly, "I don't recall promising."

"It was implied. You should know that I'm a pushover for poetry."

"Well, in that case..." He let his voice trail off and Mulder chuckled.

"Tease."

Skinner chuckled. "All right," he said, amazed at how relaxed he felt with this young man who had been a stranger only a day earlier. Had he ever quoted poetry to Sharon, even in their early years? He couldn't remember. He closed his eyes and tried to think of something appropriate. Yes, Whitman. "Among the men and women the multitude, I perceive one picking me out by secret and divine signs, Acknowledging none else, not parent, wife, husband, brother, child any nearer than I am, Some are baffled, but that one is not - that one knows me. Ah lover and perfect equal, I meant that you should discover me so by faint indirections, And I, when I meet you, mean to discover you by the like in you."

Mulder was silent for a moment, his eyes hooded, then looked over at Skinner and his eyes were very green and bright. "Thank you, Walter," he said softly, and held out his hand.

Skinner put his hand in Mulder's, allowed him to pull him down to the floor beside him. "Fox, we need to talk."

Mulder tilted his head, studying Skinner's face. "Cold feet, Walter? It's okay. I don't expect anything beyond this. I know you're married."

"She went to 'visit' her parents two months ago. After the last miscarriage, we just couldn't talk. It was tearing her apart and there was nothing I could do." Skinner sighed. "She left. I don't think - I don't know if she's coming back."

Mulder put a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry, Walter," he said softly. He sat up and kissed the older man gently. "I'd like to make you forget for tonight. Can you accept that?"

"And what do you get out of this, Fox?"

Mulder's eyes met his directly, honestly. "I get to forget, too. I get to stop seeing those boys' bodies. To sleep without the nightmares."

Skinner felt like he was drowning in those eyes. "Yes. Let's both forget."

He pulled Mulder into his arms, kissing him, and felt the immediate response. They had done little kissing the night before, driven by urgent need, but tonight there was time. He took his time to explore that hot mouth, to nibble at the smooth jaw line - Mulder had evidently shaved after his swim and the thought amused and aroused him even more - and then moved down the throat. Mulder groaned and shed his sweatshirt, and Skinner showed his appreciation by taking one of the younger man's nipples into his mouth. Mulder gasped, clutching at the head at his chest, desperately searching for bare skin to caress but he was unable to get to the buttons on Skinner's shirt. Skinner was not having any similar problems and had now stripped off Mulder's sweatpants, his mouth moving down Mulder's belly and stopping just above his rampant cock. Then Skinner released Mulder and stood, and Mulder lay gasping on the floor in disbelief until he realized that Skinner was holding out his hand to help Mulder up.

"Wha - "

"Not even for you am I going to get rug burns. Bed."

Mulder took Skinner's hand and let himself be pulled up and led into Skinner's bedroom.

"Walter, you're overdressed for this party."

Skinner chuckled. "A bright boy like you should know how to solve that problem."

"Oh, I've got some ideas." Mulder pulled Skinner close, grinning wickedly.

"Now I'm worried. I'm fond of this shirt and suit, Mulder," he growled.

"Mmm, I love it when you growl like that." Mulder began unbuttoning Skinner's shirt, pushed it off his shoulders, and started on his pants.

"Well, there goes any possibility of discipline at work."

"Discipline at work? Walter, I didn't figure you to be so kinky."

The pants and briefs joined the shirt on the floor.

"That should teach you to stop profiling me." Skinner pulled Mulder tight against him and kissed him again until the younger man's knees were shaking.

"Damn, you're good," Mulder gasped. Skinner pushed firmly, tipping Mulder back onto the bed.

"I'm just getting started." Skinner stretched out on the bed and continued his skillful seduction.

"Walter."

The voice was urgent, and Skinner raised his head from Mulder's chest where he had resumed sucking his nipples. "What is it, Fox?" he asked gently.

"I - um - I've never had anal sex."

"Don't worry, I won't do anything you don't want," Skinner said gently.

"I want you to."

Skinner studied the beautiful, trusting face. "Are you sure? There are a lot of other things we can do."

"No. I want you to be the first."

"Fox, we'd need some things - "

Mulder swung himself off the bed, through the door, and was back with his discarded jacket before Skinner had a chance to do more than take a breath. He pulled out a tube of lubricant and a package of condoms, tossing them on the bed. Skinner surveyed them with a rueful grin.

"Are you always this prepared?"

"I spend all my time on the road - who knows when you'll get lucky?"

Mulder grinned, climbing back into bed. "Now, where were we?"

Skinner reached out and pulled Mulder against him. "I believe we were right about here." He kissed Mulder again.

"Mmm. Not to complain, but I think you were actually further south."

"I think you were right." Skinner pushed him flat with one hand and reached out with the other to take Mulder's cock in hand. Mulder gasped, involuntarily bucking. "Is that better?"

"Oh, yeah," Mulder gasped as Skinner slowly stroked his cock. "That's great. Better than great. But faster."

"You talk too much." Skinner silenced him with another kiss. "Stop being a backseat driver."

Mulder began to laugh helplessly, flinging up his hands in surrender. "You *are* a control freak."

"I already told you that. Now relax and enjoy the ride."

"I thought you'd be doing the riding."

Skinner raised his head and gave Mulder an exasperated look. "You just couldn't resist, could you?" He kissed Mulder into silence, then resumed kissing and caressing and stroking that wonderfully responsive body until Mulder was gasping and shaking.

"God, Walter, please...please..."

"That's it, Fox. Come for me. I want you to come." One more stroke and Mulder was arching and crying out as he exploded in climax.

Skinner let him catch his breath then began rebuilding his arousal. When Mulder was fully aroused again, Skinner gathered the pillows from the bed.

"Raise your hips."

Mulder obeyed, bewilderment in his passion-darkened eyes. "Should I turn over?"

"No, I want to see your face." Skinner slid the pillows under Mulder's hips, gently pushing his legs up to his chest. He squeezed out some lubricant and warmed it in his hands. Mulder's breathing became ragged as Skinner's finger circled the puckered opening.

"Shhh, easy. I won't hurt you." Slowly, he eased a slick finger inside, satisfied that the earlier orgasm had relaxed the younger man, and heard the soft groan. "That's right, just relax and let me do all the work." He started a slow rhythmic movement in and out, feeling the younger man's hips begin to rock instinctively. "Yes, that's it, Fox. Another finger." Mulder drew in a sharp breath and moaned, pushing back as he welcomed the intrusion. Skinner twisted his fingers, brushing them against the prostate, and the younger man nearly came off the bed.

"Jesus!"

"Feel good?" He continued stroking in and out, stretching him.

"Third finger, Fox. Just relax." Mulder gasped at the slight burn of the stretching, then moaned as the fingers once again brushed his prostate. Skinner applied a condom and lubricant to his own erection, then positioned himself at the right angle for penetration.

"All right, Fox?" Mulder nodded, unable to speak. "Okay, now take a deep breath and let it out." As the young man obeyed, Skinner pushed slowly forward until the head had penetrated, and Mulder gasped.

"Relax," Skinner murmured, leaning over to kiss him. "Deep breaths."

He felt the muscles relaxing and pushed a little further in, pausing again to allow Mulder's body to adjust, until he was fully sheathed.

"Still okay?" he asked softly and Mulder nodded again. Skinner slowly withdrew, hearing the groan of pleasure from the man beneath him, and smiled to himself. He lifted Mulder's legs over his shoulders and pressed back in, and this time there was only the slight resistance of that virgin ass. He let out a sigh of pleasure.

Mulder moaned again. "God - Walter - it's incredible..."

Skinner kissed him. "*You're* incredible." He began slowly thrusting in and out, angling to brush the sensitive gland. "You are so beautiful, so responsive..." He reached down to grasp Mulder's cock, stroking in time with his thrusting, and Mulder nearly came off the bed again. He grasped Skinner tightly, as if he was the only anchor in a sea of passion and pleasure. As Skinner's thrusting became more forceful, Mulder's breath became more ragged and his legs tightened convulsively. Then Mulder was arching under him as he came with a scream. It was enough to pull Skinner over the edge, and he was buried deep within the younger man, his climax so intense that he thought he might pass out.

They lay there for a long moment, both of them catching their breath, and then Skinner gently withdrew and padded into the bathroom to fetch a damp cloth. With gentle hands he cleaned up his lover, then crawled under the covers and took Mulder in his arms for a warm embrace.

Mulder seemed to be drifting in a sleepy daze and Skinner had to grin as he gently kissed him.

"You okay?"

"Mmm. Wonderful. Gonna crash now."

"Go ahead. I'll be here to catch you."

Mulder nodded sleepily and turned on his side, his back to Skinner, spooning against him. Skinner wrapped an arm around the younger man's waist, gently kissed the back of his neck, and then he was asleep as well.

 

 

**Chapter Eight**

 

Skinner woke, vaguely aware that a warmth against his chest was missing. He blinked his eyes open and saw that Mulder was lying on his side facing away at the edge of the bed.

"Fox?"

"He doesn't remember the first time."

The voice was thin and curiously flat, making the hair on the back of Skinner's neck stand up.

"It's all mixed up together with the pain. But he remembers the first time the man raped his brother."

Shit! thought Skinner. He had heard of profilers getting caught up inside the heads of their subjects but he had never experienced it before. He wanted to move, to speak, but that eerie voice froze him in place.

"The man took them to the warehouse. He worked there, but everyone was gone. He was scared but his brother wasn't, didn't know to be scared. The man took his brother in the other room, locked the door. He was outside. He could hear his brother crying, calling for him, and begging him for help. But he couldn't get in - the door was locked - and he pounded and screamed but no one heard. No one came to help. And he was cold, so cold."

Skinner reached out to touch Mulder's arm. "Fox. Wake up."

Mulder rolled over onto his back, blinking at Skinner sleepily.

"Walter? Something wrong?"

Somehow the normal tone of voice increased the horrified feeling.

"You were dreaming."

Mulder seemed to accept this. "I'm cold."

Skinner wordlessly reached out to fold Mulder into his arms, and Mulder wrapped his arm across the older man's chest, rubbing his face against his neck.

"Mmm. Nice."

Skinner smiled. "Yeah, I pegged you for a snuggler."

"Profiling me, Walter?"

"Purely out of self-defense." He kissed Mulder's forehead softly.

"You okay?"

"Very okay." Mulder grinned at him. "A little sore but pleasantly so." He must have seen something on Skinner's face for the smile faded. "What?"

"You were talking in your sleep," Skinner said reluctantly.

"Shit. I'll go sleep in my room - " Mulder tried to pull himself away, but Skinner held tight.

"It's happened before?"

"So I've been told. I've scared the hell out of Jerry before. Sorry."

"You should be - you scared the shit out of me," Skinner said with gruff affection. "I expected you to sit up and spin your head around."

It worked - Mulder stopped trying to retreat and laughed shakily. "Asshole." He sighed. "Okay, what did I say?"

"You don't remember?"

"I never do. Jerry says I've had whole conversations with him, and I don't remember a thing."

"Jerry?"

"Lamana. My partner." He grinned. "Relax, Walter, we're not lovers. We've had to share rooms on cases, but we sleep chastely apart."

"It's not my business, Fox."

"So what brilliant insights did my subconscious produce?"

Skinner drew a deep breath. "You talked about the brother. And about how he didn't remember his first time, but he remembered the first time that his brother was raped. It was in a warehouse where his stepfather worked."

"Of course!" Mulder was out of bed and in the outer room in a flash, turning on the light and picking up the case files, quickly going through them. Skinner followed, pausing to belt on a robe, and stood in the doorway watching as Mulder, completely unaware of his nakedness, paced back and forth scanning the files for the necessary information.

"The younger ones were all killed in a warehouse of some kind. That's where he'll kill the next one." He threw down the files and snatched up the faxes, continuing his pacing. Skinner moved from the doorway to sit on the couch and watch Mulder pace. " _That's_ why he came here. The man worked here, in Wichita Falls, at a warehouse. This is where it happened. And he's going back to that place with his next victim."

"Then we should be able to find the stepfather from his work history."

"This is him." Mulder handed Skinner one of the faxed sheets. "Roy Wilkins. Arrested for armed robbery in Amarillo, worked for a trucking company out of Wichita Falls. It was his second offense so he was sent up for twelve years, served ten and was released to the Amarillo parole office two and a half years ago. That would make our killer about twenty-seven."

Skinner glanced at the clock and saw that it was five-thirty. There was no chance that either of them would get more sleep that night. And with a serial killer on the loose, catching him was more important.

"Right. Go get dressed and I'll get Michaels going on the Amarillo connection. We'll get someone out to the house, get a name on the stepson, and hopefully a picture."

Mulder nodded, heading for his bedroom. In the doorway he paused and looked back at Skinner. "Walter?"

Skinner looked up from the phone. "Hmm?"

"Thanks." And Mulder smiled, a real smile that lit up his face and nearly made Skinner's heart stop. Then he was gone, and Skinner was dizzily aware of nothing but the pounding of his heart and the dial tone at his ear.

 

 

**Chapter Nine**

 

Two hours later, Skinner and his agents were sitting at the conference table, drinking coffee to induce bleary eyes to remain open. Mulder was pacing, like a spring winding itself up. He showed no sign of the effect of only five hours of sleep. Skinner became even more tired watching him. He considered ordering the young man to park his ass but decided that Mulder pacing was probably better than Mulder fidgeting.

Michaels came into the room. "Jackpot, sir. We talked to Roy Wilkins' common-law wife, Rosalie Hernandez. They were together for six years before he went to prison; no children, but she had two boys from a previous marriage, Josef and Luis. The younger boy, Luis, hanged himself in 1978 while they were living here in Wichita Falls. He was eleven. They moved to Amarillo after that, and Wilkins was arrested the following year. The older boy, Joseph Hernandez, is an auto mechanic and has worked for a number of trucking companies. He's currently working here in Wichita Falls, but his mother doesn't know where. He's a good boy, she says, sends her money regularly."

"What about the stepfather?" Mulder asked.

"Oddly enough, he died in an accident six months after his parole, two years ago. Seems he was working under his truck and the jack collapsed. He was crushed to death."

Mulder nodded, and Skinner could see him withdrawing into himself as he absorbed and processed this information.

"Did you get a picture?" Skinner asked.

Michaels nodded. "I'm having copies made."

"Anything more from the surveillance teams?"

Michaels shook his head. "One was a bust - man showed up with a hooker, and he was too old to fit our profile. The other never returned to his room."

"He won't," Mulder said absently. "He's choosing his victim today and after he kills, he'll leave town."

"Let's take a copy of the picture to the motel anyway and see if the manager can ID him," Skinner said. "Have we got a list of Wilkins' former places of employment? We're looking for a warehouse job here in Wichita Falls."

Michaels looked through the papers in his hand and found one, handing it to Mulder. Mulder quickly read through it.

"Two possibles." He highlighted them and handed them back to Michaels. "We're looking for one that will be deserted - either out of business or no one there at this time of day."

"Then you think he's going to kill soon?" Skinner asked.

"By noon the boy will be dead, and Hernandez will be out of town," Mulder said flatly.

"Then we've got less than five hours. We'll split into two teams," Skinner said. "Sinclair, you're with us. Check this warehouse out, Lewis, and radio back in. We'll check out the other one. Michaels, gather a SWAT team together and wait for me to let you know which warehouse it will be. Everyone clear?" There were nods around the table. "Vests and jackets, gentlemen. I don't want any casualties on *this* stakeout."

* * *

 

Skinner drove slowly past the apparently deserted warehouse and turned the corner before pulling over to the side. "Mulder, you take the back. Sinclair and I will take the front."

The two younger men nodded, checking their weapons. They separated, circling the warehouse and cautiously checked it out. It was deserted, just as it appeared.

"Mulder?" Skinner asked, and the young man seemed to hear the unasked question.

"Yes, sir. This is it. This is the place."

Sinclair looked at him curiously. "How do you know?"

Skinner paused, exchanging a look with Mulder with a hint of a smile. He knew all the logical reasons - location, history, feel, proximity to victim's location - that he could come up with through prompting, but the good profilers instinctively knew all the questions and absorbed the answers. And Mulder was one of the best.

"He just knows," Skinner replied, watching Sinclair shiver a little.

As they headed back to the car, Skinner found Mulder walking at his side.

"Boosting my rep, sir?"

"I wasn't aware that your reputation needed a boost from me, Agent Mulder."

"You're not at all 'spooked', are you, sir?"

Skinner could have said that he had been very spooked the night before when Mulder talked in his sleep. But Sinclair was too close behind and he didn't want to rattle Mulder while the main event still loomed ahead. "I've seen Patterson's show often enough to understand the process behind the smoke and mirrors."

"Damn; there goes my air of mystery."

At the car, Mulder gave him another of those heart-stopping smiles. Skinner had to turn away before he was able to gather enough wits to operate the radio.

"Lewis, this is Skinner. What did you find?"

"Sir, this warehouse is still in use. Not a very big operation, but I think they'd notice a murder going down."

"Then we drew the right straw. Our place is deserted and has been for awhile. Meet us over here, and be sure you park a couple blocks away."

"Yes, sir. On our way."

Skinner radioed Michaels next and ordered the SWAT team into place. Within an hour, everyone was in place, concealed and waiting. And two hours later his team captured Joseph Hernandez, nicknamed the "Sherman Strangler", when he walked into the warehouse with his newest victim. Without firing a shot. Textbook perfect.

 

 

**Chapter Ten**

 

Skinner sipped on a cup of coffee and watched SSA Lewis interrogating the suspect through the one-way glass. Since his capture, Hernandez had been silent, huddled in his chair, refusing to say a word.

Skinner knew that the evidence they had was good, including the skin and blood samples from under the last victim's nails. What they really wanted was a confession, but Hernandez wasn't talking. Not that they expected him to spill his guts to Lewis. No, Lewis was just the warm-up act. The real show was getting ready to start.

The door to the interview room opened and Mulder walked in with two cups of coffee.

"Lewis, SAC Skinner would like a word with you outside. Don't worry, I'll keep Hernandez company."

Lewis nodded and took the cup of coffee Mulder held out, leaving the room. Mulder remained standing, said quietly, "You want a cup of coffee?"

The other man looked at him briefly, then back down at the table in front of him. "No."

Mulder nodded, sat down as he sipped his coffee, and made a face. "I don't blame you. This stuff is pretty bad."

The door to the room Skinner was in opened and Lewis slipped in. Skinner glanced at him briefly and then focused his attention back on the other room, not wanting to miss a minute of this. As good as Mulder was at profiling, rumor said that he was unbeatable in the interrogation phase, his ability to draw out confessions nothing short of phenomenal. He looked like anything but a hotshot profiler now. With his jacket and tie gone, sleeves rolled up, and hair standing up again, he looked like anyone's kid brother.

"They'll be moving you to a cell soon, Joseph - is it okay if I call you Joseph? They're just waiting for some paperwork to be finished up. Your mama's on her way here from Amarillo. They'll probably let you see her after they get you settled."

Hernandez had looked up at the mention of his mother, his breathing quickening. "I don't want Mama to see me here, like this."

"She knows, Joseph," Mulder said quietly. "She understands. She wants to forgive you. And she wants you to forgive her."

"Nothing to forgive." The voice was low, almost a mutter.

"She shouldn't have let him hurt you, or your brother." Hernandez drew in a sharp breath but said nothing. "How did it start, Joseph?  When did Roy first start touching you? Or did he just talk at first?"

"You don't know." Another mutter.

Mulder's voice was soft, almost hypnotic. "Did he tell you how pretty you were, how you tempted him to do bad things? Did he tell you it was your fault, and that you had to be punished?"

"Not his fault," Hernandez murmured. "I _was_ bad."

"And was Luis bad?" Another sharp breath from Hernandez. Mulder's voice continued, inexorable but soft. "He was just a baby, only ten years old. How could he be bad?" There was a sob from the man.

"Tell me what happened, Joseph."

"He hurt me. Hurt us. Made us do things."

"Roy Wilkins?"

"Yes."

"What happened to Roy, Joseph?"

"I killed him." His voice was shaky. "I made the jack fall over, and he was dead."

"What else, Joseph? What about the boys?"

"They were bad. They had to be punished."

"How did you punish them, Joseph?"

"I - I won't tell you."

"Joseph," Mulder said softly, persuasively. "You must admit what you've done to be forgiven. You didn't want to hurt anyone."

"No! I didn't hurt them - they wanted to be hurt but I didn't. I couldn't. They were just kids. So I - I squeezed them. But I didn't - you know."

"Did you kill them, Joseph?" There was silence. "Joseph, are you sorry you killed them?"

"No." The voice was low.

"No?"

"I'm not sorry. They had a choice. They didn't have to be out there, doing that. Luis didn't have a choice. It wasn't fair. They had to die." Hernandez stared at him for a long moment, eyes bright, then nodded. "Yes. I can trust you. I killed them so they wouldn't be hurt any more. I killed him, too."

"Who? Roy?"

"No. Luis."

Mulder went still. "I thought he committed suicide."

Hernandez shook his head. "No. He was hurt. He was so hurt, screaming my name, and - I should have saved him. He was calling me, crying, and I couldn't move - couldn't save him - "

Skinner noticed that Mulder had gone white and turned to Lewis.

"We've heard enough. Get him out of there."

Lewis nodded and left the room, and Skinner saw him enter the interview room. He touched Mulder's shoulder and murmured in his ear. Mulder nodded.

"Joseph, I have to go," he said softly.

Hernandez nodded, retreating in on himself again. Mulder left but didn't come into the viewing room. After a moment, Skinner went in pursuit. He found Mulder in the men's room, throwing up what little was in his stomach. He checked the room, determined they were alone, and locked the door.

"Mulder - Fox, you okay?"

Mulder nodded, shakily. He stood, flushing the toilet, and went to the sink. After splashing his face with water and rinsing his mouth, he leaned his head against the mirror weakly. "Yeah. I will be. I - get like this sometimes. After a case."

"It's not the case. It's something he said." Skinner reached out to gently pull the younger man into a comforting embrace. With a sigh, Mulder relaxed into him.

"Okay, you're right. It  _was_ something he said."

"Was it about the boys?"

"What?" Mulder looked puzzled, then amused. "Because Hernandez killed boys who were taking it up the ass? You think because _I_ did last night it freaked me out?"

"Umm - "

"Walter, it's not the act it's the intention behind the act. Roy Wilkins _raped_ his stepsons. The whole experience affected Hernandez' view on sex. What we did last night was definitely not rape - it was extremely consensual, and an experience I wouldn't mind repeating."

Skinner drew a deep breath in relief. "Thank God."

" _You're_ not feeling guilty, are you Walter?"

"No," Skinner said softly. "'The only sin passion can commit is to be joyless'."

"Dorothy Sayers," Mulder said with a grin. "You _are_ well read, Walter. You know, I always identified with Peter Wimsey."

"Why am I not surprised?" Skinner asked of the universe in general, then looked back at Mulder. "So if that wasn't it, what was it? You went absolutely white."

Mulder frowned, thinking. "It was something he said at the end, about his brother calling for help. It - I don't know - it seemed familiar. I'm okay now. Really." He looked over at the door and grinned. "You know, if anyone tries that door and finds it locked, they'll start talking."

"I'm not worried. I carry a gun." Skinner gave Mulder a last squeeze, then crossed to unlock the door. "Of course," he said as he led the way out into the hallway, "the most horrible thing about this investigation is yet to come."

"Oh? And what would that be, sir?"

"Paperwork, Mulder. Paperwork."

 

 

**Chapter Eleven**

Several long hours later, Skinner unlocked the door to the suite and led the way inside. Closing the door with a sigh, he reached out to gently pull the younger man into an embrace.

"Fox, you okay?" he asked softly, soothingly rubbing Mulder's back.

Mulder looked at him, surprised. "Sure, Walter. Why?"

"All that earlier. You've been through a pretty rough day. I just want to make sure that you're okay."

Mulder nodded. "I will be. It's over."

Except for the nightmares, thought Skinner, and wondered who would be there to comfort him when the nightmares began. Wished that it could be him. That perhaps, somehow, some way, this relationship that was becoming more precious to him every minute could have a chance to continue to grow. Wanted to say something of this, to assure his lover that this was important to him, important enough to risk the future for, but it was too soon.

Mulder gently pushed away. "I'm going to get a shower."

Skinner nodded. "I'm going to check the messages at my office," Skinner said, then studied the younger man's face. "I'll be over when I've finished doing that."

And it was okay, better than okay, because that impassive face relaxed into beauty and a smile was curving those lips. "In that case, I better brush up on *my* poetry. I think I owe you one."

Skinner definitely knew that no one had ever quoted poetry to him, and he captured his lover for a brief kiss. "I won't be long."

"You better not, or I might start without you." A provocative, teasing look and Mulder went into his room leaving Skinner to grin and wonder how love could make fools out of grown men.

He sat down on his bed and removed his tie, dialing the number for his voice mail. Two follow-up calls regarding active cases, one call from Reggie with congratulations on the capture, an invitation to a civic function and then, at the end, a heartbreakingly familiar voice telling him something that he had given up expecting to hear.

And, in less than a minute, the castle of dreams he had just started to build was blown away by the wind.

* * *

 

"Is this seat taken?"

Skinner didn't look up from his drink. "I would have expected something a little more original from you, Mulder."

"It's late, it's been a long day, and I'm not at the top of my form."

He stood surveying Skinner. "You know, drinking alone can be dangerous. You never know what might happen to you."

"Yeah, but sometimes you need to."

Mulder tilted his head, studying Skinner. "Should I go?" he asked quietly.

Skinner sighed. "No, Mulder. Sit down. Please."

Mulder slid onto the stool next to him and ordered a soft drink. Skinner looked at him inquiringly. "I don't drink. An occasional beer, but not hard liquor."

"Dulls the mind?" Skinner said sarcastically.

Mulder hesitated and Skinner had the feeling that he changed what he had planned to say at Skinner's tone. "No. I figure one of us should be sober tonight. And it appears that you're already out of the running."

They sat quietly for a long moment then Mulder said in a soft voice, so that they couldn't be overheard, "I was waiting for you."

Skinner stared into his glass. "I know," he said, quietly.

"Then why are we sitting down here watching you getting blitzed instead of upstairs screwing our brains out?"

Skinner sighed. "When I checked my messages tonight, there was one from my wife. She's on her way home. She's decided to come back to me."

"Oh." It was Mulder's turn to study his glass. "Thank you for telling me, Walter."

"I owe you that. I - can't. I'm sorry."

Mulder nodded. "You know, most men would have figured 'what the hell, neither one of them will find out'. You're a man of integrity; I appreciate that."

Skinner studied the younger man, his eyes filled with pain. "You're a very special person, Fox Mulder, and this has meant more to me than you'll ever know. But I love her, and I can't give up on ten years. Even for you."

Mulder nodded again. "So, what are you going to do now?"

Skinner signaled for another drink. "I'm going to get blind drunk, and then I'm going to go to bed alone, and when I wake in the morning I will be extremely hung over. And you?"

"I'm going to keep you company while you drink, and then put you to bed. And when you wake up in the morning, I will be sitting in a chair by your bed with the aspirin."

"Sounds like a plan to me."

 

**Chapter Twelve**

Two days of whirlwind activity: returning to Dallas, press conferences, conferences with the Justice Department, starting to tie up all the loose ends. He didn't see Mulder again until they were at the airport. The younger man had dodged the press conferences and had camped out at the hospital with his partner. And now it was time for good-bye.

There was only a small group at the airport. Skinner and one of his ASACs. Jerry Lamana in a wheelchair. And Mulder. And it seemed to Skinner like there were at least two people too many. There was no time, no place here for a private farewell. Just as well, he thought numbly; if he were to hold that slender, warm body in his arms again, could he ever let him go?

Unknown, unknown, so don't push your luck. Just smile, say the platitudes, thank-you-for-all-your-help and have-a-good-trip-home. Just open your hand and let him go. And a part of Walter Skinner that he had barely remembered existed would go with him.

Then Mulder was turning toward him and they seemed to be in the calm center of the tornado of activity around them.

"Well, sir, I guess this is goodbye."

Skinner nodded. "You did good work here, Agent Mulder. I intend to tell Reggie that."

Mulder shrugged, self-depreciatory. "I should have stopped him before he killed Miguel Alvarez."

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Agent Mulder. You did the best you could, better than anyone else could have done. We caught him. He won't kill anyone else." Softly he said, "Have faith in your own convictions. Believe in yourself, Fox."

Mulder's eyes met his directly. "I want to believe." His eyes were suddenly very green.

Skinner wanted to pull him into his arms, to kiss those lips again, but it was impossible. So he nodded and held out his hand. "Good-bye, Agent Mulder. Good luck."

Mulder shook his hand. "Good-bye, sir. And thank you - for everything." Then he was turning to his partner. "Okay, Jerry, let's get you on the plane. At least this time you won't be chasing the flight attendants."

"Why not? Half the fun is getting caught. You should try it some time, Mulder. Lord knows you need to get a life."

Mulder was pushing Lamana's wheelchair down the ramp, and Skinner could hear the faint reply. "Maybe you're right, Jerry."

"What was that? Would you speak louder into my tape recorder - "

Skinner stood at the viewing window for a long time, almost certain that he could see a dark head at one of the plane windows, almost certain that he saw a slight wave. He raised his own hand briefly.

"Sir?"

ASAC Winters was standing respectfully behind him. Skinner drew a deep breath.

"Right. We have a lot of clean-up work to do on this case, Winters. I want all the police reports on the murders that Agent Mulder indicated were connected to this case pulled and gone over. The Justice Department needs this case nailed shut and, by God, so do I."

Walking alongside him, Winters listened and made notes while SAC Skinner went over the details that he wanted handled. And behind them, Flight 0412 to Washington, DC pulled out of the gate and taxied down the runway. 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.  
  
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	3. Old and New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From their first meeting during a highly-charged investigation of a serial killer in Texas to the more dangerous and controversial X-Files in D.C., Walter Skinner finds that there is something inexplicable binding his soul to that of Fox Mulder.

  
_"I thought we swore we'd let this love rest in peace_  
 _Am I wrong?_  
 _Didn't we part as friends?"_

 

**Old Lovers**

When Walter Skinner accepted the transfer to D.C. five years after the case of the Sherman Stranger, he knew that he would see Fox Mulder again at some point. They were working in the same building -- hell, they were working in the same division. Skinner was now Assistant Director for Criminal Investigations, the new darling of the 5th floor, and Mulder was....well, _there_. In the same building.

Not that there was any _need_ for him to see Mulder, not in a professional capacity. Section Chief Blevins was the man's immediate supervisor and there was no reason for the work Mulder was doing to come to the attention of Blevins' superiors, unless Mulder screwed up. Which, given the nature of this new department, of these X-Files he was working on, might not be as far-fetched as one would think.

There was even less need to see Mulder in a non-professional way, not with his marriage on rocky ground. Sharon was pleased to be returning back to the East Coast, near her parents, but wasn't happy with the additional burdens of his new office. She was insisting that they attend couples' counseling...was talking separation again. And he loved her, had loved her for years before losing his heart to a vulnerable, brilliant young agent during those all-too-brief days in Texas. He owed her an attempt to save their marriage. It was emotional suicide to even contemplate seeing Mulder, talking to him, touching him...

Walter Skinner was not given to suicidal impulses. Cautious by nature, he was not one to run headlong into trouble. Little did he know that trouble would run headlong into him.

Literally.

He was on his way back to his office from a meeting with the Director, flanked by Blevins and another section chief, listening intently to their updates. Mulder, absorbed in reading a file he was carrying, rounded a corner and ran smack into Skinner, nearly knocking them both to the floor.

Mulder recovered first, flushing a little and stammering an apology.

"No harm done," Skinner said quietly. He took a deep breath and held out a hand. "It's good to see you again, Agent Mulder."

Mulder shook his hand a little too quickly, his eyes briefly meeting the older man's eyes before looking down at the floor. _Damn_ , thought Skinner; _I forgot how mesmerizing those eyes are_.

"Thank you, sir. Congratulations on the promotion."

"Thank you, Agent Mulder."

There was an awkward silence between them for a long, long moment. Finally, with a tight nod to the younger agent, Skinner continued his path toward his office. He was aware of the curious looks from his two subordinates, of the silent look exchanged between them.

"You know Agent Mulder, sir?" Blevins asked.

"He and his partner came out to Dallas a couple years back to help profile a serial killer," Skinner said absently.

 _Five years. So long ago and yet so painfully short a respite. Time and space, wiped out in an instant in a pair of hazel eyes_.

 

* * *

The house was dark when Skinner pulled his car into the garage, dark except for a light over the sink in the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and saw a plate wrapped in plastic wrap, waiting to be reheated. Cold pork chop, mashed potatoes, some green vegetable...

 

_The kitchen was brightly lit and he heard a soft laugh._

_"About time you got home."_

_Sharon set a bowl down in front of him and he could smell the rich aroma of stew and hot bread. She slid into a chair across the table from him, propping her chin on her hand, smiling at him._

_"What?"_

_The smile widened. "I just like looking at you."_

_He smiled, shook his head. "Not much to look at."_

_"Says you," she retorted. "I'm crazy about you, Walter Skinner."_

_He could feel the warm flush on his face. "You shouldn't have waited up. It's late and you have to open the store in the morning."_

_Sharon shrugged. "So I'm less than alert while waiting for some bored housewife to come in antiquing. It's worth it." She reached out to caress his cheek. "Hurry up," she whispered. "I want to go to bed."_

 

Skinner closed the refrigerator, no longer hungry. He poured a glass of Scotch, then wandered down the hallway and looked up the stairs. The hallway was dark and quiet. He walked into the living room and sat down on the couch, cradling the glass of Scotch between his hands, and listened to the silence. The whole house felt empty, empty and cold. And he felt empty and cold, too.

 

_"Jesus, Walter! Your feet are ice cold!" A good-natured grumble after his return from the bathroom, but long legs wrapped around his to warm him back up and warm lips nuzzled the nape of his neck, nipping at his skin._

_"Ow!" He laughed and turned to enfold his lover in his arms. "What do you want, Fox?"_

_"You."_

 

Skinner shook his head, banishing dangerous memories. He took a swallow of his drink, debated turning on the TV to catch a rebroadcast of the news then decided against it. Too much darkness in his life already. He finished his drink, set the glass in the sink, and climbed the stairs.

Sharon was lying on her side of the bed, her back to the middle, sound asleep. A strand of dark hair lay across her cheek, and he gently smoothed it away. She looked so peaceful sleeping there, her face relaxed and beautiful. He kissed her cheek and she murmured something, then sunk back into sleep.

Skinner undressed quietly in the dark, going through the nightly rituals of pajamas and brushing his teeth, then slipped into bed. But it was a long time before he fell asleep.

 

 

**Old Friends**

Skinner sat at the bar, nursing a scotch and thinking, remembering years gone by. On a night like tonight, distant memories were better than the painful silence that awaited him at home, better than the accusing glare across his desk from a baffled, hurt young man.

"You know, drinking alone can be dangerous. You never know what might happen to you."

He thought, for one moment, that it was his memory speaking. But then he looked up and there was Mulder, standing and looking at him with that same wary but inquisitive look that he'd given him on that last night in Wichita Falls.

Skinner sighed. "It's all right, Mulder. I don't plan on getting drunk tonight."

"Should I go?"

Nearly the same words, the same dance, he thought achingly. Five years, and it could have been five hours, five minutes. And although he knew he should say yes, leave, he heard himself saying the same words. "No, Mulder. Sit down. Please."

Mulder sat down on the stool next to him and ordered a beer. Skinner raised an eyebrow.

"I thought you didn't drink."

"Some things change." Skinner winced at the tone of Mulder's voice, not the friendly voice known all too briefly but the sarcastic, nearly insubordinate one he had heard in his office earlier, discussing the Toombs case. "And this is an occasion to celebrate wouldn't you say? The reunion of two old friends."

"Yes."

They were silent for a long time, the years hanging between them like a rope bridge that neither of them knew how to cross. He felt an ache in his heart, remembering how easy it had once been.

Skinner finally spoke into the silence. "How have you been?"

Mulder shrugged. "Okay. Busy. You know all about that. I hear you've been going over all our case files with a fine-toothed comb. Scully says you've been questioning her, too."

Skinner felt a headache begin behind his eyes. "Let's not talk about work right now."

"Okay. I suppose I should ask how have you been, how's the wife, and so on." The tone was brittle and that, too was something new. The Mulder he had loved had been defensive but not like this. Not so sharp and brittle that Skinner felt like he could cut himself to pieces on Mulder's words. He drew a deep breath, concentrating on the content rather than the tone.

"I've been good. I suppose you heard that I left Dallas shortly after that case."

"Yes. Assistant Director in Charge for Los Angeles. Quite a feather in your cap. And from there to Assistant Director here."

Skinner turned to look at Mulder, briefly, wanting to say something to bridge the gap, ease the pain. "That case may have been what got me here. Did I ever say thank you?"

Mulder shrugged, not looking up, not meeting his eyes. "It was my job. You know the routine: trot out the pet-profiler, spout off the perfect profile, give the man in charge a little slap-and-tickle, put the psycho in jail. No big deal."

The words hurt, had been meant to hurt. Skinner knew that he should let it go. He was Mulder's boss, he was married. But the pain rolling off Mulder in waves was more than he could bear. "The case was more than that." Softly, he added, " _You_ were more than that, to me."

Mulder stared down at his beer bottle. "Go home to your wife, sir."

Skinner winced. Mulder was right, but... "I see you're not wearing that ring anymore."

Mulder shrugged again. "No need; my reputation as a nutcase is enough to keep them away now."

"You should get a life, Mulder."

There was a sharp laugh at that. "I tried. Getting a life is vastly overrated, sir."

"Fox..."

"Don't!" The voice was sharp, the eyes hard as steel as Mulder turned to stare at him. "I just came here to say this. They're trying to shut down the X-Files. I know it, you know it. Don't let them do it, sir."

Skinner sighed. "I may not have any control over that, Mulder."

Mulder slid off the stool, moving into his personal space, his voice low but harsh. "You're an Assistant Director. Don't tell me that you don't have control over it. You have _all_ the fucking control. _Sir_."

"Agent Mulder," Skinner growled, his eyes meeting the blazing fury in the younger man's eyes.

Their eyes locked for a long moment. Then Mulder blinked, dropped his chin to his chest.

His head came back up and his eyes were soft with pain. "Please, sir. The X-Files are all I have now." And then he threw down money to pay for the beer and he was gone.

Skinner sat at the bar, trying to slow his breathing, seeing only the pain in those eyes and hearing the heartbreak in that voice.

 

 

**New Friends**

 

Skinner sat in the bar, staring down into his third? fourth? drink. Not that it mattered; he planned on having several more before heading home. Home to the sublet apartment he'd been living in since Sharon had asked for the separation, if living wasn't giving what he'd been doing too much credit. He could barely stand to be there, hadn't even taken the time to unpack most of the boxes, only returning there when he was too tired to work any longer. Once there, he fell down into an exhausted sleep, waking alone to shower and dress and drag himself through another day.

He picked up his glass and stared into the remaining Scotch, seeing instead the documents laid out on his desk, the final divorce papers awaiting his signature. He closed his eyes to block out the memory, tossing back the drink and signaling for another.

"Is this seat taken?"

For a moment, he thought it was Mulder and his heart leapt into his throat. But no, the voice was a woman's, not a man's, and he looked back down at his drink as he replied that it wasn't. He wasn't in the mood for conversation, still less for flirtation or a pick-up.

Except - she didn't appear to have a pick-up in mind, was avoiding one in fact, and he was surprised enough to take a second look. There was something about her face that reminded him of Sharon, a look in her eyes that reminded him of a younger Mulder, and he found himself talking to her. And when she invited him upstairs to her room...well, he was - for all intents and purposes - a free man. And it was better than going home to an empty apartment, he thought.

Which just proved how very wrong he could be at times.

What hurt worse, though, what hurt more than the murder accusation and the ruin of his career, was the look in Mulder's eyes when he stood on the street before him and said the word ‘prostitute'.

Skinner would never forget the betrayed look in Mulder's eyes.

* * *

 

Skinner sat in the bar, staring down into his third? fourth? drink. Not that it mattered; he planned on having several more before heading home. Home to his new condo in Crystal City, a fresh start in a new place, with all his boxes unpacked and his belongings carefully scattered throughout the rooms. New and clean and lonely...

"You know, drinking alone can be dangerous. You never know what might happen to you."

Skinner didn't bother hiding his smile as he turned his head and found Mulder standing beside him, hands in his pockets, a hint of a smile on his own face. Something had happened, something had changed between them during that attempted murder frame. Again, he had opened up to Fox Mulder, had shared part of himself and his past without fear that it would be used against him. Mulder had, in return, believed in him when no one else did, and that knowledge warmed Skinner as he smiled at the other man.

"You know, Agent Mulder, I'm starting to believe that you are psychic. How did you know that I'd be in this bar tonight? Or do you follow me every night on the off chance I'll stop at a bar?"

Mulder's smile widened. "Haven't you heard? I'm 'spooky'."

Skinner laughed. "Sit down, Mulder." Mulder did so, ordering a soft drink. "No beer tonight?"

Mulder raised an eyebrow. "I figure one of us should be sober. And it appears that you're already out of the running."

Skinner looked back down at his drink, a little surprised to find the glass empty. He signaled for another. "I plan to get very drunk, Mulder. And go to bed alone. And wake up with a hell of a hangover."

"Well, looks like you're well on your way. And the 'going to bed alone' idea is definitely a good one, considering what happened last time you drank alone in a bar."

"Unkind, Mulder, unkind," Skinner was too relaxed to take offense, too comfortable with their new rapport to be hurt. "And I didn't have my watchdog with me that night." He picked up his new drink and took a sip.

"Jeez, take one night off and see what happens." Mulder grinned, looking amused to see his boss like this. "So what kicked off this particular bender? Or is that on a need-to-know basis?"

Skinner sighed, sadness pushing its way into his pleasant alcoholic haze. Amazing how it still hurt, even if the marriage was over, had been over for years. Surprising, and sad, that it was hard to remember what she'd looked like when they'd been so in love, not to picture her as she lay on that hospital bed.

"I sold the house today. _Her_ house."

"I'm sorry," Mulder said simply.

Skinner nodded, accepting that. One of the nice things about Mulder was his ability to empathize with serial killers and assistant directors. He frowned; there was something wrong with that statement, but he couldn't pin it down so he shrugged it off. " 'Sokay. I'm getting used to the idea. Time to stop living in the past." He signaled for another drink. "Time to stop loving ghosts."

"Sir..."

Skinner looked down into his new drink. "I only truly loved two people in my life, and I lost both of them. Sharon and the Kid." He took a swallow, feeling the warmth of the alcohol burn away the cold, at least for now. It never lasted; the cold always came back. "That's what Reggie called him: the Kid. Sharp as a knife, sweet as hell. Scared the shit out of me one night, y'know? And I just wanted to hold him tight, never let him go..."

"Sir, I don't think you want to tell me this," Mulder said, his voice grimly.

"Quoting 'don't ask, don't tell' regs, Agent Mulder?"

Mulder snorted. "That does it, sir. I'm taking you home and putting you to bed."

Skinner stood and drew himself up to his full height. "Agent Mulder, I'll have you know that I am not that kind of a man." He staggered slightly and was grateful when Mulder stepped in to brace him with an arm around his waist, looping Skinner's arm over his shoulder.

"I could argue that point with you, but I don't think I will."

"Good idea, Mulder," Skinner growled.

He allowed Mulder to walk him to his car in the parking lot. Mulder leaned him against the car and fished the keys out of his pocket, then unlocked the door and pushed Skinner into the passenger seat. He fastened the seat belt and then went around to the driver's side.

It was dark in the car, and Skinner blinked, trying to bring the man in the driver's seat into focus. The alcohol seemed to have gone to his head and the world felt oddly disjointed.

Mulder gave him a puzzled look. "What, sir?"

"Nothing. Just..." Skinner tilted his head. "You look familiar in this light."

"We've been working together for how many years? I should hope I look familiar."

Skinner shook his head, then reached out one hand to gently stroke Mulder's cheek. "Ever been to Texas?"

Mulder looked at him, startled, then back at the road and it seemed like a smile was trying to work its way past the irritation. "Yeah. I may have been there once or twice."

Skinner dropped his hand and nodded to himself. "Thought so," he said in satisfaction, as if solving a mystery.

Mulder laughed. "God, sir, you are wasted."

Skinner grinned at that, then let his head loll back against the seat. He was barely aware of Mulder stopping the car, and all too willing to cooperate as Mulder extracted him from his seat and guided his staggering steps to the elevator and then down the hallway to his door. It didn't even occur to him to question how Mulder had known where he lived, he just handed over the keys and braced himself against the wall while Mulder unlocked the door.

"All right, sir, you're home."

"Good." Skinner pushed himself off the wall and through the doorway. "I want a drink - "

"No more drinks," Mulder said firmly. "Time to get tucked into bed like a good little A.D."

"Spoil-sport," Skinner grumbled but allowed himself to be pushed up the stairs to the bedroom. He collapsed on the bed, closing his eyes and humming as Mulder removed his tie and belt, then his shoes and socks. He felt a warm blanket tucked around him, and a warmer hand touched his forehead.

"Sir, I've put a glass of water and some aspirin on the nightstand. I'll be downstairs on the couch if you need me."

Skinner opened his eyes briefly and smiled at the sight of concerned eyes so close to his own. He wanted to say something reassuring, to reach up and pull Mulder down to him, but his arms felt so heavy... And there was no rush; they'd found a way to cross that bridge and there would be time.

He nodded, closed his eyes, and let the darkness pull him under.

 

 

**New Lovers**

 

Skinner woke to the awareness that his bedcovers were weighted down by a heavy object and blinked his eyes open. Mulder lay on his back on top of the covers, sound asleep. Glancing over at the clock and then toward the window, he realized that he had slept through the day and into early Saturday evening. He vaguely remembered waking once to use the toilet and take some aspirin, but then he'd fallen back asleep. No wonder he felt so rested. So relaxed. So clear-headed. And so absolutely sure of what he wanted.

Now the only question was what did Mulder want. That he was still here might be an answer in and of itself. Or it just might be the man's infernal sense of guilt. It didn't matter; he had been without this too long, had gone through too much, was determined to have what he wanted. And he was prepared to cheat to get it.

He was working his way down Mulder's chest, having tugged his shirt free of his pants, when the other man stirred and opened his eyes. He groaned, then drew in a sharp breath.

"Sir, are you attempting to seduce me?"

Skinner raised his head, giving Mulder an amused look. "Brilliant deduction, Holmes." He dropped his head and continued licking and nipping his way across Mulder's chest.

Mulder blinked again, apparently digesting this. "Sir, are you high?"

Skinner chuckled. "Only on pheromones."

"This is not a good idea, Walter."

"No. It isn't. It's probably the worst idea I've ever had," Skinner said tranquilly, and his tongue gently teased a brown nipple.

Mulder groaned, his left hand automatically lifting to caress Skinner's bare back. "God, that feels so good!"

" _You_ feel good," Skinner murmured. "It's been so long..."

"Sir, this is crazy."

"I believe you have already pointed that out. Have I mentioned before that you talk too much?"

Mulder chuckled weakly. "I seem to recall a comment along those lines."

"Some things never change. Now hush. The only word I want to hear is my name when you come. And I'd prefer that to be 'Walter' and not 'sir'."

He bent his head to kiss Mulder again, only to have the younger man place a hand against his chest to hold him away.

"Walter," Mulder said. "Where in hell did this come from?"

Skinner met Mulder's eyes evenly. "I've been in love with you since Wichita Falls. I never got over that. And I think that Sharon knew I was in love with someone else, although not who it was."

"She knew," Mulder said quietly. "When we talked at the police station, there was a look in her eyes. The look of a wife acknowledging the 'other woman'." He smiled ironically. "I've never been the other woman before."

Skinner closed his eyes for a moment. "What did she say?"

"Just that you never talked about work at home but you had mentioned me, that you respected my work. She wanted to know if I thought you did it, and I told her no, I knew you hadn't."

"You were the only one who believed in me from the start."

"Scully - "

Skinner shook his head. "No. She wanted proof to make her believe. You believed without proof. That's when I knew you still had feelings for me."

Hazel eyes met his directly, challengingly. "If she hadn't died, would you have signed the papers? Would we be here now?"

Skinner didn't blink, didn't turn away. "When she was lying unconscious in Intensive Care, I told her I wasn't signing the papers. That it was up to her. We had a history together and I had made a commitment to her. I live by my commitments, Fox." Mulder met his eyes, nodded, understanding what he was saying. "She still would have filed; she was ready to move on."

He paused. "Whether or not you would have ended up here, in my bed....I don't know. I would like to think that you would have been, that there is something...inevitable about this."

Mulder took in a deep breath, looking away from him. "I've had two lovers since Wichita Falls, Walter - "

Skinner interrupted. "You don't have to tell me, Fox. It doesn't have any bearing on our relationship."

"It might. One of them was a woman; she worked with me for awhile before taking an assignment overseas. The other was Alex Krycek."

Skinner nodded. "I suspected as much."

Mulder blinked. "How?"

"That day in my office, when you laid out all the evidence against Krycek. There was a sense of deep betrayal behind your words." He gave Mulder an ironic look. "We hate most the ones we once loved. I have reason to know that, too."

"I never hated you, Walter."

"Didn't you? What about that night in the bar, after my transfer here? And that time you took that swing at me? I don't blame you, Fox. You had every right to hate me."

Mulder was silent for a long moment, looking away from him. "I tried to but I couldn't. You were right. There couldn't be anything between us while you were married and my boss. You still _are_ my boss." He quirked an eyebrow at Skinner.

"We're used to living our lives on many levels; we can handle this. It won't be easy, but it's worth it. _You_ are worth it."

Mulder sighed and closed his eyes.

 

_"Whoever you are holding me now in hand,_

_Without one thing all will be useless,_

_I give you fair warning before you attempt me further,_

_I am not what you supposed, but far different._

_The way is suspicious, the result uncertain, perhaps destructive,_

_You would have to give up all else,_

_I alone would expect to be your sole and exclusive standard,_

_Your novitiate would even then be long and exhausting,_

_The whole past theory of your life and all conformity_

_To the lives around you would have to be abandoned,_

_Therefore release me now before troubling yourself any further,_

_Let go your hand from my shoulders,_

_Put me down and depart on your way."_

 

Skinner smiled, a curl of warmth in his stomach at the memory of a hotel room and a whip-cord lean body stretched out on the floor, quoting poetry. Then he shook his head, denying the warning Mulder was giving him. "Not a chance, Fox. I know Whitman, too, remember? And I know the rest of that poem.

 

_"But just possibly with you on a high hill,_

_First watching lest any person for miles around approach unawares,_

_Or possibly with you sailing at sea, or on the beach of the sea or some quiet island,_

_Here to put your lips upon mine I permit you,_

_With the comrade's long-dwelling kiss or the new husband's kiss,_

_For I am the new husband and I am the comrade."_

 

Skinner leaned over and gently kissed Mulder's lips. "So, Fox, is it 'stop' or 'don't stop'?"

Mulder returned the kiss with heat. "I don't suppose I could convince you not to call me Fox."

Skinner chuckled. "Not a chance."

"You're an asshole, you know that?"

"Yeah, but whose asshole am I?"

"I don't know who'd have you," Mulder retorted, then gave him a soft kiss to take away the sting. "Mine," he said, reaching up to caress Skinner's cheek. "You're mine. And I'm yours."

Skinner deepened the kiss and Mulder responded enthusiastically, then groaned as Skinner's mouth began moving down his neck, nibbling at his throat. He moved back to Mulder's nipples and felt him arch against his teasing tongue.

"Damn, you're so good at this!"

"I'm inspired by my subject."

His hands moved down to unbutton Mulder's pants, and Mulder obligingly raised his hips to allow Skinner to strip them off. Skinner's mouth continued its exploration, rediscovering all the sensitive places of Mulder's body like rereading a favorite book. Before long, he had Mulder nearly beside himself with frustration.

"God, Walter, if you don't fuck me now I'm gonna explode!"

Skinner rolled away briefly to fetch the necessary supplies from the nightstand then was back kneeling between Mulder's legs. Mulder pulled his knees to his chest to allow Skinner better access, clutching at the headboard as Skinner carefully inserted a lubed finger.

"Jesus, Fox, you're so tight. Been awhile?"

Mulder was looking at him with a peculiar smile. "You should know. You were there."

That took a moment to sink in. "But - Krycek - "

"I didn't let him fuck me. I didn't trust him enough for that."

The words and the look on Mulder's face totally undid him. Skinner rocked back on his heels, trying to catch his breath, trying not to lose control of his emotions, certain that he had confused Mulder by pulling away. But it appeared that he hadn't. Mulder sat up and put his arms around Skinner, pulling his head against that sleek chest.

"Shh, Walter, it's okay. I'm here now."

Skinner wrapped his arms around Mulder tightly, grateful for his understanding. "Yes," he said with a growl. "And I'm not letting you go again."

He kissed Mulder, feeling his flagging erection surge back to life, and gently pushed Mulder back into the mattress. Feeling incredibly tender, he caressed his lover's skin with his fingertips and his lips, feeling Mulder writhe under him.

"Come on, Walter," Mulder begged. "I need you _now_."

How could he refuse that? With as great care as he had taken that first time so many years ago, he breached his lover's body and made love to him until they were both sated and exhausted. And one.

 

 

**New Paths**

 

Skinner lay watching the sunrise, cradling the man he loved most in the world in his arms. Mulder's head was on his shoulder, his arm wrapped around Skinner's chest, one leg thrown across his own. His breathing was soft and easy in his sleep, and there was a smile on his sleeping face.

He knew their path wouldn't be easy, that their enemies wouldn't give up, but at least they were no longer divided and would face the future together. With one last kiss, he allowed his own eyes to close, breathing in the scent of his lover as he drifted off to sleep.

The End

 


End file.
